He Likes to Watch
by LadyMalys
Summary: What is going on whilst the camera is elsewhere. Movie-verse, end of Thor to post-Thor and swinging on into my own little mind, possibly then going up to Avengers just for giggles. Rated for language and sexy times. Don't own, but really wish I did!
1. Chapter 1

He Likes to Watch

She was smart, sexy and packed a Taser. He liked that in a woman. The fact that she was built pretty much made her his ideal, and he'd not been able to get her out of his head ever since she'd pushed in front of him at the 7/11 with her arms full of boxes of poptarts, snarking under her breath about the loss of her iPod. Her perfect, pouty mouth was utterly foul – he'd not heard such language since Afghanistan – and she was beautifully eloquent in her summaries of the paternal lineage of a number of SHIELD agents. She was like a breath of fresh air in this stagnant little town, and when she left with her purchases it was as if she'd sucked all the oxygen from the small shop, leaving his head spinning from her vitality and the scent of her lavender shampoo.

And so that was why he was now lying in the freezing New Mexico sand, his sniper scope firmly pointed through the large windows of the scientist's base of operations. The storm had long passed as had all the excitement at the crash site, and through the night sight he could see the Big Guy and…Jane? talking on the roof. He was sure Coulson would want him spying on them, but they held no interest. His attention was riveted to the glass. The lights were off, but the wonders of military grade technology meant this was no barrier to his hungry eyes.

She was dancing, fluidly and unrestrained in the darkness, to the songs on her newly re-acquired iPod which he had left on her doorstep after covertly liberating it from Evidence. She was moving with sinuous grace, weaving between tables and overturned chairs, righting the furniture by the starlight. Eventually all was in order and she made her way to the small bunk she had set up on the floor in light of the *very* drunk Selvig taking over her bed in the ridiculously small RV.

Through the scope he watched her prepare for bed, the skin she was slowly revealing (my god, was she doing a striptease?) tinted a bright green where what little light shone down was reflected from its paleness. He shifted carefully in the sand, attempting to find a position which would release the pressure on his growing erection whilst keeping his eye firmly fixed through the scope. He was grateful that there were no curtains in the building and that she believed she was alone.

She was down to her panties and bra now. Jesus, a matching set and a (she turned briefly away from the desert vista) holy fuck a thong set at that. A rush of blood to his already interested cock left his vision swimming slightly. He pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch in an effort to find some relief. It failed spectacularly when she released her ample breasts from their cotton-and-lace prison, the mass of her (he guessed) double-D chest perking free. Even through the ghostly green scope he could see her nipples were hard in the chill night air, and she turned swiftly to snatch up a cute, too-tight t-shirt and shorts pyjama set. Teddy bears, if he wasn't mistaken. She was turned away from the window when she slipped the thong over her hips and down her smooth thighs and for that he was oddly grateful. The shorts barely covered the soft globes of her arse, the smallest sliver of rounded cheek just peeking from the cut of the leg.

God, she was (unknowingly) providing him with a lot of A-grade wank material here. He rolled carefully to the side so that he could ease the fly of his fatigues down, popping the button and easing the material lower on his hips. He quickly changed his view. The Big Guy and the woman were still talking quietly; their attention was fully on the other and highly unlikely to waver. Good. The consequences of the muscle-bound man catching him spying on the young woman would likely be both incredibly painful and highly embarrassing. His gaze once more turned to the vision of beauty now brushing her teeth at the kitchenette sink. Utterly unself-conscious. Utterly bewitching.

She was padding back to her makeshift bed now. Seat cushions wouldn't make for the most comfortable sleep, but it did afford him an excellent view of her as she had arranged them to lie parallel to the view.

Throwing back the comforter, she paused and looked out into the silvered night. She seemed to stare straight down the scope and into his soul, and he froze and held his breath. One of his hands was still lightly cupped around his balls, which tightened in the cool air. A shrug and she lay down, punching the cushions into a more comfortable submission before lying back. She was evidently too warm for any covers as the worn comforter still lay where it had been thrown.

Minutes passed. Minutes in which he played with himself, running a soft hand up and down his length and wishing it was her slim fingers touching him so intimately. And then, there was movement; she rolled over onto her back. A hand slowly run up her body. His breathing quickened and he shifted, hunching onto his side as if he could get his eye any closer to the scope. He gripped his cock more firmly and ran his fist slowly up the length, twisting it slightly when he reached the tip and brushing his thumb over the weeping head. Pre-come slicked the callused thumb pad and he managed to turn a moan into a heavy exhale just in time. Sound carried well at night and he really didn't want to give himself away. He was well-practiced at the silent jack-off – being out on missions and sleeping in barracks with a lot of horny soldiers gave a man a lot of practice at the art of silent self-loving.

But right now, his self-control (which he liked to think was near-legendary) was being sorely tested by the Siren behind the glass who now had one hand inside her tight little shorts whilst the other kneaded at her breast. Her head was thrown back in the cushions, her dark hair tangled around her face as her eyes drifted closed. He was panting shallowly, his focus roaming between her beautifully vulnerable expression, down over those impressive breasts – rising and falling pretty quickly now – and down to the outline of the hand now working hard inside those ridiculously-cute-but-sinfully-sexy shorts. His own hand sped up, his breath now reduced to ragged puffs in the cool air.

The hot coil inside him was growing larger and heavier, pooling in his gut and slipping lower, towards the root of his straining cock. Her eyes were closed as she was lost in her own feelings, but his were almost glued to the scope and getting dry through lack of blinking. The speed of his hand matched hers and his eyes kept fluttering slightly as his breath devolved to ragged pants and gasps. He was beyond caring if anybody heard him now.

Her back was arching off the cushions, bending like his bow whilst he felt as tense as the string that pulled it. He was close to unravelling and floating in a place of pure pleasure. His cock felt like it was going to explode; he was in the last bit of the countdown before it went off like a bomb. Her feet were scrabbling for purchase and she bent further than he thought possible for someone without specialist training. He could tell she was about to cum and the knowledge drove him even closer to the edge.

Suddenly she stilled before a tremor ran through her body. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, and she fell bonelessly upon her back as his own control snapped like an over-pulled bowstring and he had to bite into the cloth covering his own free arm whilst he emptied the boiling hot coil of need onto the sands. He slumped, his head falling to the side and resting on a patch of lichens as he fought to get enough oxygen into his starving lungs, sucking down air like a half-drowned man.

Eventually, his head cleared enough for him to once more shift to the scope. He observed her with a racing heart as she lay there, running her hands over her thighs and gently squeezing her breasts with an immensely satisfied half-smile. Even at this distance he could see her eyes were half-closed and that it would not be long until she slept. He started to make ready to prepare to go, tucking his spent cock back into his fatigues and zipping up again.

Suddenly, she sat up and adjusted her t-shirt, the movement bringing his eye back to the scope as if it were magnetised. She stood and padded over to a table where she stood for a few seconds, evidently writing something down whilst he admired the roundness of her arse. She straightened, walked quickly to the pinboard nearest to the window opposite him and firmly attached her notice.

As she got back down onto her bed and pulled the comforter over herself, he zoomed in the scope at the piece of paper and read _"If you want a repeat performance you're going to have to buy me dinner first"_.

Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, made a mental note to do that at the first opportunity as he gathered his equipment and vanished into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint's chance came sooner than he expected. The next day the town was almost destroyed by a massive fire-breathing robot (anyone would think he lived in a comic) and the Big Guy turned into a hammer-wielding God of Thunder. SHIELD higher-ups decided that the research should be returned to Selvig and Dr Foster along with all of their equipment, and so the following day he jumped into one of the vans to – as he told them – lend his muscle to the scientists. The tunnels which had been erected around the crash site were already being broken down and packed into lorries and he was more than content to be forgotten in the hustle and bustle there.

When they reached the damaged town, however, it wasn't much better. Most of the businesses on the main street had no windows whilst others had fire damage, although the gas station had thankfully been extinguished and made safe. Burned out cars had been pulled roughly to one side of the street so that traffic could once more pass through and there were groups of residents inspecting the damage to their individual little slices of life. And even this was serenity when compared to the headquarters of the astrophysicists.

It was barely controlled chaos. Jane Foster was yelling orders at the unloaders, Erik Selvig was directing laden men to various locations and Darcy… well, Darcy just looked a bit lost and overwhelmed. He knew from sneaking a look at her file (Coulson should learn to lock his office door) that she wasn't a scientist like the other two, and so he watched her do the only sensible thing she could: she grabbed her laptop and iPod and slipped through a door which swung gently closed behind her.

He made to follow when he felt a hand on his arm. Dr Foster gave him a quick appraisal before flashing him a smile and – surprisingly nicely considering the tirade she had released only minutes before when something had been dropped with a crunch – gestured to a heavy looking crate and indicated that it needed moving out of the doorway and towards the far side of the room.

For the next hour or so he became her personal fork-lift truck. The research and science guys that Coulson had sent had all the combined strength of a damp paper bag, and the SHIELD heavies were taking down the scaffolding at the crash site. That left him as pretty much the sole lump of muscle available, and Jane certainly gave him a good workout.

His stomach told him that it was well past lunch before the two scientists were happy with the way their equipment had been arranged and they set to unpacking the more delicate pieces from their Styrofoam nests and arranging them all in some sort of complex arrangement of wires and machines that went "ping" occasionally. The SHIELD nerds stood around talking shop with Foster and Selvig, and Clint realised that he hadn't seen Darcy since the door had swung shut behind her. There was a small refrigerator in the open plan kitchenette, and a quick diversion awarded him a couple of ice-cold Dr Peppers before he left the work area in search of her.

The door revealed a set of stairs which he assumed to be the roof access. He checked that no-one was watching (they weren't, but he didn't want interruptions) before ghosting up them.

He supposed later that it really was his fault. He simply couldn't let go of his training even around civilians and so he really ought to have made more noise on his approach. As it was, his passage across the shingle roof, to where he could see her head above the back of one of the old sun loungers, was near-silent. No doubt Natasha would have made even less noise, but he did have more weight to carry and it's not like he was *consciously* stalking the girl…

Still, he did at least have the presence of mind to stop a little way off – he could see she was concentrating on a game – and announce himself with a "Hey…" swiftly followed by a "What the fu..?" as he stared at a couple of Taser wires hooked to his combat vest just before the world went white and disappeared for a while.

He came round slowly, becoming conscious without opening his eyes. Playing possum, he managed to not flinch when something hard, wet and shockingly cold was pressed first to his forehead, then his cheek and finally the side of his neck. He realised it was one of the Dr Pepper cans, which he had evidently dropped when the Taser ran through him, and he had to fight not to smile at how thoughtful Darcy was towards a complete stranger. She was muttering under her breath "Second time within a week. Oh yes, I Taser *all* the hot men. Well done Darcy, you're a real and totally not psychotic catch."

Hot, huh? He stirred and gave a theatrical groan, followed by a genuine one as his head throbbed at the movement. A guiding hand helped him to sit forwards and an arm slung around his shoulders (oh god, now is NOT the time to flex) kept him steady. Not lying on the roof, so she must have somehow moved him onto one of the loungers. She was stronger than she looked, unless she had help… And how he really hoped she hadn't called anyone.

Clint cracked an eye, catching a glimpse of a concerned expression behind a tumbled curtain of soft, dark hair. He let out another groan to test the waters. Her arm tightened fractionally, but he didn't hear any sniggering in the background, so he guessed his bad-ass reputation was safe.

"Dude, I am so sorry, but that was totally your fault for sneaking up on the girl who had *just* helped save the world from giant killer robots and was neck-deep into an epic high score on an intensely awesome game of timed minesweeper." A pause, just long enough to draw a breath, "how're you feeling? Any side effects from Valerie? I really hope you're not a god too, because I don't think I can cope with Tasing two in one week."

Wow, the chick really babbled when she was nervous. It was kinda cute, like all her thoughts just ran out of her mouth and bypassed any filter which might have been in place when she was less freaked out. Wait, had she just called her Taser

"Valerie?" She waved it in front of him, and he was a little worried to see her finger was still on the trigger. He looked down quickly, and hissed as his brain protested the sudden movement, but he was relieved to see that the little hooks had been removed from his clothing. Had she *reloaded* whilst he was laid out at her feet? That was cold. Calculating. Kinda hot… "I guessed who Valerie was, and she made quite an impression. I do not need a second introduction. So how about you put her down, pass me a Dr Pepper and we start again without the application of what feels like a near-fatal dose of electricity?"

She blushed and bit her lip before she carefully placed her Taser on the floor, and Clint suddenly had a vision flash across his minds eye of her pulling that same expression as she worked her body towards orgasm just two nights before. This time, the scent of lavender and warm, sun-kissed flesh was right there and he had to cough and raise one knee as he felt stirrings in his groin. Best not to have to explain that…

"Darcy Lewis, Taser-aim extraordinaire and all-round dogsbody intern. Pleasure to haul you onto a sun lounger. And you are?"

He took her proffered hand and shook it. He couldn't feel any calluses except on the very tips of her fingers – everything about her flesh spoke of softness and indoor living and he relished the sensation. "Clint Barton, better aim than you and SHIELD agent. Pleasure to be sharing said sun-lounger with you". (Ooo, good comeback. Cool but without being a total arse). She flushed slightly again, and stood quickly to transfer to the other lounger. Clint could have laughed, but he didn't want to piss her off. "How'd you get me onto this thing anyway?"

She shrugged and pushed her glasses more firmly onto her nose. "A deadbeat ex-boyfriend who would drink until he couldn't see and lived on the second floor. There were only so many times I could leave him on his own front steps without feeling horrendously guilty". She tossed him one of the cans, and he neatly snagged it from the air whilst his vision swam again.

"Appreciate it, anyway. Sorry about your boyfriend" (yeah, sure he was. An ex-, did that mean she was available?).

"He was a dick. I was young and stupid. He seemed to fit the bad-boy mould." She shrugged again and cracked her can open with a hiss and fizz up of froth. She slurped at the cold foam as it spilled over and down the side, licking the can and sending Clint's brain spiralling towards filth as he imagined what else she could lick so delicately. "It's all in the past and that's firmly where he stays".

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Clint had opened his own can and set about draining it in one go as the thirst worked up over the morning combined with the sun and the shock of the Taser to make his throat as dry as the New Mexico desert. Darcy watched him from behind the fall of her hair, eyes fixed on the flex of his throat as he swallowed, the curled bicep of his arm, and felt about as young and stupid as she had when she'd discovered a certain drunken deadbeat ex-boyfriend had been shagging her roommate behind her back. That was the reason she'd applied for an internship in the middle of nowhere, even though it had nothing to do with her degree.

"So, why'd you come up here anyway? Did they need me downstairs, like, half an hour ago? Wow, only half an hour. You came round faster than Thor." OK, he couldn't stop his smug smile at that.

"Nothing like that – I saw you avoid the hard work and thought you might want a drink after being up here for a while. I know I wanted one, and I didn't want to hang around with Dr Foster in case she found me something else heavy to lift for her. So I thought, you know, two birds with one stone and came to find you." Guilt flashed across her face, and her friendly smile dropped. "I've got a deal for you – I won't tell your boss you've been up here all day, and you don't tell *anyone* that you got the drop on me and knocked me out". She grinned and stuck out her hand again. He reached across the firepit and shook it. Did the contact go on just a little too long? Did that mean something? OK, time to bite the bullet – what was the worst that could happen? He cleared his throat, feeling more nervous than a man who had killed Big Bad Guys should in his position.

"Say, I've not been in town too long. Where's the best place to grab something to eat that doesn't consist of PopTarts and Eggo? I've seen what you've got in your cupboards and you're welcome to join me, if you like" Crap, why had his voice given that weird quiver at the end?

She shot him a sideways look with a smile. "Sure, I know a place that shouldn't have got damaged" her voice sounded…wry? "So it was you, then."

Clint kept his face impassive as he stood and tipped an imaginary hat at her. "I'll pick you up at 6". He took her hand once more and with a slightly cocky smile brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles before turning smartly on his heel and walking off. He managed to wait until he was safely hidden on the stairs before jumping in the air with a fist pump and a grin.


	3. Chapter 3

It was half past five. He should really put this scope back in his pocket, climb down off this roof and give her at least a modicum of privacy, but she'd disappeared into the little RV twenty minutes ago and hadn't reappeared yet. The curtains in the little window were drawn (dammit!) and he dearly wished the science nerds at Headquarters had come up with x-ray specs. Thought they'd probably be thwarted by the aluminium skin of the wheeled box, so they still wouldn't have been any help. He sighed and lowered the piece of tech. A sign of movement and it was back to his eye – he saw Darcy jump out onto the ground, wrapped in a long cardigan. She scanned the town, and he pressed tighter to the low wall he was crouched behind. A smirk lit her face though he was certain she hadn't spotted him. Jesus, his heart was racing like a schoolboy trying to peek into the girls locker room. That hadn't happened since back at the circus.

She turned and practically skipped into the workshop. Damn, he hadn't a clue what she was wearing except that it was teamed with knee-high boots. He hoped they weren't going anywhere too dressy – he'd only packed the basics when he received this mission. Clean combat trousers, and a new purple t-shirt which he had spotted on his walk through town that afternoon when he was heading back to the crash site. The symbol on the chest amused him. Three concentric circles like a roundel or target. Besides, he quite liked purple and it was nice not to wear full black once in a while.

This time, the scope was firmly put into his leg pocket, and he made his way down the fire escape, lightly dropping the last bit to the ground so that he didn't have to bother with lowering the ladder.

Strolling (he hoped) nonchalantly along Main Street, he made his way up to the door bang on 6pm, pushing it open with a cheerful "Anyone home?". Jane ducked out from behind one of her large pinboards with a smile and a little wave followed by Erik Selvig who gave him a look designed to make him falter like an unapproved prom date. He wished that it hadn't worked quite so well – he almost miss-stepped and his smile slipped a little. There was a worrying feeling that if he was left alone with Selvig he would be given The Talk, despite being in his early-thirties and well aware of what could happen if he did anything stupid. Best case scenario would see him re-introduced to Valerie. The worst would see him punched into next week by a returned and vengeful Norse God.

Jane called over her shoulder "Darcy, he's here" before taking Selvig's elbow and pulling him back to the calculations. She grinned back over her shoulder, "You can take a seat in the kitchen. She'll only be a few minutes". He smirked at that – he knew she was ready and was just going to let him stew a while. Well, he was Hawkeye, and he didn't get psyched out by anyone. He lounged in one of the chairs and propped one foot up on the other knee, flicking through a trashy gossip magazine to pass the time until she decided to make an appearance.

When she did, he had to almost physically restrain his lower jaw from dropping open. She'd lost the cardigan and revealed a mid-thigh length flared dress in a deep wine red which offset her dark hair perfectly. Matching lipstick, smoky eyes behind her glasses (which added a sort of geek-chic intelligence and stopped her from being labelled "slut") and finished off with the knee-high leather boots. He could barely tear his eyes away from the display of her generous cleavage, but he still registered that the spiked three-inch heel would have been something that even Black Widow might have found difficult to run or fight in. She gave him a twirl.

He realised that he had been staring when she broke into a grin. Clint cleared his throat and stood hurriedly, very grateful that his blood seemed to have stopped in his veins rather than immediately rushing towards his cock. He stood there awkwardly, feeling more like a teenager than ever and Darcy rolled her eyes before walking to him, pulling his shoulder down so that she could place a delicate kiss upon his cheek. When she pulled back to wrap a thin scarf loosely around her neck, teasingly covering her impressive décolletage, he was left in a delicious scent cloud of her shampoo and a light floral perfume.

He held the door for her as she waved the others a swift goodbye. A called "have fun" from Jane was answered with a muttered "I intend to", which he was almost certain was not intended for him to hear. The hunger in that phrase made his breath catch. He held out his elbow to her, and she took it with a delightfully shy smile. Neither registered the change in the light, the drop in air pressure, and they had made it only halfway to the towns surviving diner (not as good as Izzy's but Darcy assured him that the all-day breakfast was pretty decent) before a crack of thunder heralded a downpour even heavier than the night Thor had beaten up a lot of SHIELD agents. Within seconds they were both drenched to the skin.

Clint was at a loss. He'd been out in worse weather, but not unprepared like this. Should they run for the diner and spend the evening soaked, or head back to the old motor showroom to dry off but likely not have a date at all? Darcy made the decision for them both by grabbing his hand and pulling him sideways off the street, into an open garage occupied only by a tool bench and a tarpaulin-covered motorcycle. Once out of the deluge she turned to him, grinning madly at the wild weather. She hadn't let go of his hand yet, and his attention focussed on that small bit of contact. He felt like giggling, and that was just ridiculous. He couldn't even remember a time when he had last felt like this.

"Looks like we're going to be here for a while," Darcy observed whilst she watched the dancing rain. The heavy clouds had turned the early evening into the deepest night, and a flash of lightning followed immediately by a thunderous wave of sound confirmed her prediction. They stood side-by-side, still holding hands, just under the roof and feeling the rain-cooled air on their faces. She raised her free hand and rubbed at her arm – he saw goosebumps. A moments decision and he pulled her against him, hugging her to his chest and sharing his own body heat. Her hand now rested on his chest instead of gripping her own tricep, and she couldn't resist tracing the well-formed outline through his wet t-shirt. "Hot damn, I *always* Tase the cut guys…" she managed to whisper before he bent his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that made her forget her own name.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everyone who has left reviews, put me on their Alert list or Favourite-d me! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and I appreciate them all.**

**This chapter is heading back into the M-rated territory. I hope you enjoy it **

They sat at a table in the bar, each occasionally catching the others eye and smirking. Darcy's hair was a mess, a still-wet tangle that she knew made her look like a crazy cartoon witch and would take hours of brushing to sort out.

_The kiss deepened. Tongues fought for dominance. Her hands roamed his chest, clutched at the wet cotton covering his back. His arms wrapped around her, holding her to him with one hand buried in her hair and the other dropping lower to rest at her lower back._

She'd ordered them both boilermakers and sniggered when his eyes widened at the huge pitchers, and then even further as she tipped the shot into each. Clint looked at her with a new appreciation – the girl wouldn't have ordered them if she couldn't handle her drink, right? They'd given up on going to the diner, as she knew that the nearest bar did a great cheese and bacon smothered fries.

_He backed her towards the wall, his hands now on her hips. She jumped into his arms, thighs tight around his waist but he regularly sparred with the Widow and the grip didn't even affect his breathing. Her arms were now hooked over his shoulder, plucking at his t-shirt and running her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. He pinned her against the wall and freed a hand to run down her thigh. As he drifted it back up, gently pushing the hem of her dress higher, she broke the kiss to lean her head back with a moan that went straight to his cock. He buried his face in her neck, nipping and kissing at her exposed throat. Her hips flexed into him, his own doing the same in response and his hand slipped higher under her dress to knead at her soft flesh with callused fingers._

Half the drink later and Clint plucked up the courage to ask her how she knew he'd been watching. Darcy shrugged, "I've no idea what Jane's on about 99% of the time, so I spend a lot of time staring out into the desert. I know the way the shadows fall out there, and when something is a little bit off, I notice." He was impressed. That sort of awareness was highly unlikely amongst the untrained. So he asked her why she had done what she did, knowing he was there. She blushed and ducked her head – he felt smug when she couldn't give him a snappy comeback. The appearance of the cheesey fries interrupted their conversation briefly.

"_Have you got…?" she gasped out, and gave a frustrated groan when he regretfully shook his head._

"_Wasn't expecting this, but we don't have to stop" and his strong fingers reached further, slipping between her legs as his other arm tightened at her waist, supporting her against his body. It was a difficult and slightly uncomfortable angle, but she managed to wedge a leg higher up his waist, against his ribs and he was able to run his fingers over her, feeling the outline of her lips through the cotton thong. Her breathing hitched and he smiled into her neck as she started to press down onto his hand. He teased her for a while, rubbing and stroking through the delicate fabric until she was swearing softly in his ear, begging for more. When he pushed her panties to one side and slowly slid first one and then a second finger into her willing warmth, she curled into him and bit his shoulder to stifle her moan._

She asked about his life. He told her about the circus and his training. About how he became so good with his bow, which he preferred over guns, how he learnt to tumble and excel in acrobatics. He gently laughed at Darcy's enthusiastic demands for a demonstration, and he promised he would show her in the morning. When she asked how he had come to SHIELD, Clint shook his head and said that he couldn't tell her. She looked a little hurt, but accepted that. Then, he asked her about her University studies.

_She came apart after a few frantic minutes, writhing whilst his fingers reached as deeply as the angle would allow. Her face was flushed and her legs shook; her fingernails raked up his back to grip his shoulders when her muscles tensed just before she came with a scream. He muffled the end of her outburst with a deep kiss, thankful that the storm would dissuade anyone who might think to find the source of the cry. He took more of her weight as she slumped bonelessly into his arms and tried to draw breath. "Oh. Em. Gee, Agent Barton. They teach you that in sniper school?"_

She told him of her previous attempts at studies, deciding that first Dramatic Arts and then English Literature were not for her. She'd got further into Political Science than the other two. She preferred the quieter, more behind-the-scenes feel of it. Besides, there was more chance of a career after she graduated.

_He let her down carefully to ensure that she wouldn't fall off her heels. She leaned against him whilst she got her balance, still panting lightly. He raised his hand to his mouth, and she watched as he sucked at his fingers with his eyes on hers. "Jesusfuck, that's hot". His pupils were lustblown and her full lips became a predatory grin "And now it's my turn, Archer-Man"._

He asked why she was in New Mexico, doing an internship in a field that wasn't in any way related to her studies. Darcy told him about her ex-boyfriend in more detail, about how she'd needed to get out of New York and be as far away as possible from the drunken cheat. She'd left him three months before applying for the internship. She wasn't even upset by him anymore - before she'd left the city to drive across the country in her truck (now full of scientific equipment) she'd introduced him to Valerie. Clint winced.

_He was spun and pushed hard against the wall as she dragged his head down into a bruising kiss. Her hands ran around his waist, fingers dipping beneath his belt – fluttering and teasing – making him squirm as they tickled. His cock was painfully hard and when she ran her hand over the bulge in his combat trousers he thrust out blindly with his hips, making her give a low chuckle. Finally, there was a slight release of the pressure over his crotch as she slowly undid the zipper, and a pleased sound when she discovered that he wasn't the kind of guy to wear underwear. Cold air assaulted him and made him gasp as his trousers were pushed open and lower on his hips. He groaned and his head fell back against the brick wall as she ran her fingers over his twitching length, stomach muscles tightening when she circled his girth with a gentle hand. His eyes rolled back in his skull as she slowly pumped him from root to tip and back again. "Close your eyes" she whispered against his neck, and he could do nothing but obey._

The fries were gone, Darcy having picked all the cheese from the plate. The boilermakers had been drunk. Neither wanted the evening to be over and so regular beers were ordered. Darcy totally did not watch his arse as he walked to the bar, nor blush when he turned and caught her watching… She was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, but Clint was as composed as he had been when they arrived at the bar. They kept talking, Clint describing some of the places in Europe he had been. She noticed that he never gave specifics and guessed that he was only telling her the stuff which would not result in his superiors ordering her immediate death. Now that was a sobering thought.

_She sank to her knees, hand continuing its torturously slow pump, her other at his waist and holding him still. She dropped a kiss onto the flesh at his hip and his eyes flew open; he looked down at her with lust and wonder, groaning when she trailed butterfly-light kisses across his stomach to his navel and his eyes unfocussed again, sliding half-closed at the sensations racing through his body. She watched his face, judging his expression for the right time to strike. His thighs were starting to tremble and he was thrusting gently against the pressure of her arm across his waist. When his breathing was more like shallow panting she slid her lips around the weeping head of his cock and smoothly down as deep as she could go._

Darcy nervously asked how long he would stay in New Mexico now that the hammer was gone. He shrugged, and told her that decision was beyond his paygrade, but he was now planning on taking some leave and – if she wanted him to hang around – he would request to be on the guard detail Coulson was setting up. She cursed – Jane wouldn't like that. Clint shrugged again. Her work was important to SHIELD, he told her, and there was no way that the organisation would want it interrupted or set back.

_His self-control was rapidly deserting him, her soft lips and talented tongue were driving him to new highs. He'd never experienced this level of sensation before – normally fucks were fast and nothing more than affirmation of life after nearly dying. Even a blowjob from her held a layer of emotion, a spark which danced in their held gaze as he looked down at her and she up at him. There were tears behind his eyelids and the heat in his body had pooled deep in his body, building to an almost unbearable tension. "Shitfuck Darcy, I'm about to…" and she leaned in, taking him all with her nose almost against his belly. Oh god, no-one had done this so readily for him. His hand was tangled in her hair and held her in place as his resolve to hold back crumbled to nothing, and his hips pumped erratically as he emptied himself into her waiting throat._

She asked about SHIELD. Clint couldn't really tell her much, he didn't have the clearance to recruit, he said. However, he did sell the employee package to her; the more than generous wages, the top-grade health and dental packages. The opportunities for travel. She looked thoughtful, and he resolved to suggest her to Coulson.

_She licked her perfectly pillowsoft lips, caught a dribble of seed which was spilling from the corner of her mouth and, as he watched with disbelieving eyes, swallowed it all. Once she had tucked his spent and softening cock neatly away and (carefully) zippered and resettled his trousers, he grabbed her and dragged her up into a deep kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue, and held her tightly to his chest whilst he tried to bring his breathing back under control; she placed her hand sweetly over his hammering heart and idly traced the outline of his pectoral muscles. He continued to lean against the wall whilst he couldn't trust his knees to hold him up. He broke from the kiss gently and looked at her. "Oh. Em. Gee, Darcy Lewis," he teased. "They teach you that in Political Science?"_

When they stood to leave, Darcy was swaying slightly and slurring her words "Shtupid boilermakers. Hitcha like a freight train when you leasht exshpect it. Shorry." He grinned and slung an arm around her waist, leading her gently from the bar. When she fell off her heels for third time he hoisted her, protesting, into his arms and headed back to the scientists lair with her snuggled against his chest. She ran a hand over his bicep. She was lighter than he expected.

_They stood together, kissing as the rain outside grew lighter. He nibbled at her neck when her head fell back, his hand in her hair as she moaned his name. A shiver ran down his spine at the breathless, drawn out syllable of his name on her lips. He wanted nothing more than to make her say it again, but not tonight. Later. Another date, do it right. He gently drew away from her. "Before you make sure that I'm not going to be able to walk upright for the next week, how about we find a bar?"_

He carried her (giggling like crazy) back to Jane, who rolled her eyes and led them to the kitchen to put the coffee-maker on. He sat with Darcy on his lap, fingers entwined as Jane threw her assistant a fond look and bustled to put two large mugs of strong black coffee in front of them, retaining another for herself as she wandered back to stare at her calculations. After his drink, and thinking of the walk back to the camp, he carefully extricated himself from Darcy and stood to leave. Darcy caught hold of his hand and ran her thumb across his knuckles, "If you hang around, there are great views in the desert at night" and he smirked in response. He thought of the scope still in his pocket and was tempted to say yes, but instead shook his head with a rueful smile. He bent, and whispered into her ear under the ruse of kissing her cheek

"Next time I get a live show, I'm not going to watch from a sand dune, and you're going to need your sleep before I do" and straightened again. Ignoring her mouth dropping open, he stuck his hands in his pockets and, after nodding to Jane Foster who raised her mug in acknowledgement, walked out into the night whistling a jaunty tune.


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks again to all the lovely people who have left reviews, set up alerts and favourite-d this story. They really encourage me to write, although I'm sorry you had to wait a little longer than I would have liked for this chapter as family life has a tendency to encroach on my writing time!**

**I promise, there will be more smut very soon!**

The light on the other side of her eyelids was far too bright and the gentle sound of Jane making pancakes was causing a deep throbbing in her head. She assumed she was on the coach cushions again (poor Jane, not the strongest of creatures) and from the feel of heavy wool tucked under her chin, covered with the old crocheted afghan which was usually used when they sat out on the roof at night. She snaked her hand from under the blanket and groped around until she felt her glasses, shoving them onto her face before even cracking an eyelid. When she did, she groaned and pulled the afghan over her face, revelling in the blessed darkness even though it didn't really help the pounding headache. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and lifted a corner to see Jane holding out a tall glass of orange juice and a couple of aspirin. She sat, feeling like a racoon had used her mouth as a latrine, and took the drink and drugs with an apologetic murmur of thanks. Jane just patted her on the shoulder gently, "Take the morning, Darcy. I'll need you to be alive later – more phenomena are predicted for tonight and you'll be driving." She nodded (carefully as it still felt like her head would fall off if she moved suddenly) and snuggled back under the covers to wait for the pills to kick in.

Clint, meanwhile, felt euphoric as he bounced around the base. Coulson had approved his request for leave and he'd filled out a form to put his name on the guard roster. His boss had raised an eyebrow as he submitted it, but he kept his expression as blank as he could and Coulson said nothing about it. Then he caught a ride to the nearest big town, taking his credit card with him.

Darcy was slowly becoming more and more human with the aid of copious amounts of water and a stack of pancakes with syrup that could have sunk the Titanic. She raised her glass to the God of Carbohydrates in thanks and steadfastly refused to think about her actions the night before. Realising -thanks to Erik eyeballing her- that she was still wearing her date dress, she braved the short dash to the RV, discovering that the storm had brought a change in the weather and it was much colder than her outfit was suited for. She changed into her usual style of clothing (oversized check shirt, furry bodywarmer, denim skirt with extra thick tights and her much-loved knock-off Ugg boots which she'd bought from a dodgy vendor in Battery Park) and immediately felt more like herself. She checked the time on her phone. 11:30. Where was Clint? She was sure he'd promised an acrobatics demonstration this morning. She tried to ignore the hot belly-flush when she thought of watching him doing handsprings and the fact that thinking of him (with those amazing biceps and that gorgeously cocky smile) was making her heart rate pick up. She headed back to her desk and pretended to work on her laptop whilst she watched the little clock in the corner of the screen flip steadily to lunchtime.

Normally he hated shopping and would either wear his old clothes until they fell apart or would put in requisition requests through SHIELD. This time was different. This time he was giving into temptation and getting just what he wanted…

The little digital display read 14.45 (and she was as close to human as she was likely to be) when Darcy became aware of the deep throb of an engine getting louder. She perked her head above her screen to look for the source through the panoramic windows and saw Clint sitting astride a heavy motorbike. She couldn't help it – she squealed rather loudly, causing Jane to squeak "What!?" in a rather alarmed way, and dashed outside.

"Dude, I would screw you right here in the street for a chance to ride that beast!" she yelled as she tripped and stumbled in her haste to get to the glorious black-and-chrome machine. He killed the engine and grinned that delightful (no, her heart totally did *not* do a weird little flip-flop) smile of his, grey eyes twinkling as he watched her run a reverential hand over the handlebars, down the fuel tank and hover over the engine which sang with heat. He caught her chin and brought her up for a kiss.

"Sorry I couldn't make our appointment this morning, I was a little busy." He was going to explain about his leave request (not that she was listening – her eyes hadn't even left his new bike whilst he'd kissed her, and she was mumbling engineering statistics under her breath) but then Jane and Erik had appeared in the doorway with rather pointed – and in Erik's case somewhat disapproving – expressions. "Come on petrolhead. Time to say goodbye to the pretty bike and get back inside," he took her by the hand and dragged her back inside whilst she protested. He handed her back to the senior scientists (Jane smiled, Erik glared and he had the urge to run) with a chaste kiss on her cheek and an enquiry as to her evening's activities. He *tried* not to look disappointed that they would be out in the field, but also acknowledged that she would need her wits about her should another Asgardian – or something from one of those other "realms" that Darcy had told him about over beer and fries – came through. Besides, he supposed he ought to find himself somewhere to stay. Who knew how long he would be here?

They ate a late lunch as a group before Clint left them to their work, citing Darcy's job as well as a few personal errands which needed to be sorted. The peck on her cheek lingered longer than strictly necessary and when he pulled away his eyes were dark with lust, which made Darcy shiver slightly. Her hand was tight on his upper arm, and yes he flexed but just a little which made her to giggle. She watched him – well, his denim-clad arse – as he slung his leg over the low seat of the bike, started the engine with a mountainous rumble and slewed off down the street with a spray of dust and gravel.

The night time field trip was a bust. The Bi-frost Einstein-Roseythingy didn't even give them pretty clouds. Jane was depressed between bouts of high intensity muttering and Erik worked around her as best he could in the cramped space of the van, occasionally laying a supportive hand on her shoulder. Darcy sat silently in the driver seat and played games on her phone whilst thinking about all the dirty things she wanted to do with a certain sniper. They didn't return to base until nearly 4am, and the younger woman just put her head on her arms and fell asleep next to her laptop, lulled to unconsciousness by the hum of the machines that went "ping" at hypnotically regular intervals.

His plans were in place – he had a wardrobe's worth of jeans, t-shirts and his beloved battered leather jacket had been dropped off by a newly arrived SHIELD colleague, a small apartment rented on a week-by-week basis and had stocked the small fridge with the best of the meagre selection of foods this town had to offer. When he called in at the old showroom mid-morning he found them in a distinctly unsociable mood, although Darcy had given him the cutest bleary-eyed smile when he roused her before she panicked and scrambled off to brush her teeth. He made a mental note that she was not a morning person. He decided it would be best if he let them be. He could see that Jane was upset, as much about the Thor no-show as the fact that her scientific predictions were now in doubt. Besides, Erik would no doubt be even grumpier with him after a bad night's work and he didn't think that anyone would want to face that, so he simply hugged Darcy and asked her to be ready for a date that evening, about 7pm? She didn't have to wear anything fancy. She nodded and smiled before pulling his face to hers for a kiss that made his toes curl and his cock sit up and pay attention before she decided that the siren call of the fresh coffee he had put on for them was just too loud to ignore any further. He didn't want to leave her to what was likely to be a tough day's work, but he still had to deal with a few things – Natasha being the most pressing. Time for a discussion with a Russian (he smirked at that). After a last, lingering kiss he headed back to the crash site to chat with Coulson about the guard detail and to make a long distance phone call to explain to the spy that she would be on solo work for a while longer.

Darcy longingly watched him go, riding off down the newly cleared Main Street and out of town. Jane came and stood beside her, watching as well. "Don't trust him too fast, Darce," she warned. "He seems like a good guy but he works for SHIELD and who knows what orders he carries out for them? I like him and I'm happy you two are getting along so well" (Darcy grinned to herself. She wasn't going to tell her boss just *how* well they connected) "but I don't like his employer. You could be playing with fire and I don't want you to get burned."

Darcy turned, quirking an eyebrow at the older woman, You're playing with a god," she pointed out, "We're both in danger of getting hurt. Besides," she said as she glanced at Erik, who had flung open the RV door at the gunning of Clint's bike engine, "I think we'll both be getting a talk from your friend over there before long." Dr Selvig was looking rather stern.

"Good point," Jane smiled. "I'll run distraction so you can nip off early tonight. I've deflected him before and he can be rather intense if you've not had to face it." Darcy could have kissed her, if she was certain that Erik's brain wouldn't explode. Instead, she reached out and quickly squeezed Jane's hand in thanks.

"Come on then boss, standing here and staring at settling dust isn't going to bet Mr Thunder back." Jane gave her a genuine – though slightly sad – smile and they went back to their respective jobs for the day.

**Later**

Darcy checked the little clock said 17.30 (not like she'd been avidly watching it all afternoon) as she stood back from her desk and stretched her arms above her head with a loud groan, as per their pre-arranged signal. Jane glanced up from her own workstation and nodded, "Darce, that's all I'm going to need from you today." She looked mock-thoughtful for a comically long moment, "Wait, isn't it Friday?" Erik glanced at his mobile, spotted she was right and murmured in the affirmative, his eyes wary. "Well, in that case, after the week we've all had…see you Monday and not a moment sooner." Darcy grinned whilst she rolled her eyes – way to be subtle there. Still, a weekend off wasn't to be sniffed at. And neither was she, as she realised that she hadn't had a shower since the previous morning. She skipped to the RV for clean clothes and then made a bee-line for the wet-room conversion which had once been a sales office, refusing to come out until she was primped, preened and had wrinkly fingertips. She was keyed up for her mysterious date with Clint, and with Jane and Erik scant metres away she hadn't felt comfortable with her usual stress-relief technique of allowing her fingers to wander whilst the running water plastered her long dark hair to her back. She was horny as a dog in heat and if she didn't get something better than fingers between her legs very soon she would not be held responsible for the Tasings that would most certainly occur.

Clint decided to take the bike to collect her and see just how well she coped with speed (and, if he was forced to admit it, his rather reckless driving). The apartment was 20 minutes' walk away, five by bike, but there was no massive rush to get back – he'd only just put the lasagne into the oven and it wouldn't be ready for another 40 minutes or so. He quickly tidied up the small kitchen, slid some plates into the bottom of the oven to warm and then shrugged on his scuffed leather jacket, settling the comforting weight across his shoulders. Heading out, he checked that the box of condoms he'd bought at the drugstore that morning was still in the pocket and grinned. He really hoped that she would be amenable to the idea of using a few of them up – he'd been living with a semi since the night they sheltered in the garage, and his dreams left him waking to wet sheets and mornings spent in the local launderette. And that was after spending an inordinate amount of time in the shower twice a day. Jesus, if he could taste her just one more time…

At 7pm she was stood outside waiting when he pulled up, a backpack slung over her shoulders. She sauntered over and he was unable to tear his eyes from her whilst the engine dropped to idling. Loose hair, short imitation leather jacket with a red top beneath, the black boots again into which were tucked tight jeans that showed her curves off with such sinful honesty that he actually salivated at the thought of peeling the supple denim off her. His trousers were already feeling uncomfortable, and he hoped she'd believe him if he blamed it on the engine vibrations. She swung a leg over the seat behind him, tucking in close to his back with her arms around his waist, and without a word he pointed the front wheel towards the setting sun and took off at a slightly-over-the-legal-limit pace. As they cleared the town he opened up the engine and caught her whoop of joy before the rising wind snatched it away. Her grip moved – instead of tightening around him (as he had hoped) it shifted to his shoulders, and as the balance of the bike shifted he realised that she was standing up on her foot pegs. A glance over his shoulder rewarded him with the sight of her wild grin and hair streaming out behind them. The chick was crazy, and that was enough of a turn-on for him that he turned the bike for home as fast as he could without dislodging her. Dinner first. Oh god, grant him the restraint to get through dinner and then… then he'd find out just how deep the crazy ran…


	6. Chapter 6

**Aaaaaand back to the 'M' rating. Language and explicit-ness. Sorry this has taken so long – it can be a little strange writing scenes like this when you have an eight-month old staring at you!**

They crashed through his front door, their mouths tasting each other, nipping at lips and sucking at tongues as they fought to get into the apartment. Darcy was pushed against the wall as Clint slammed the door behind them, but rather than making a disarming comment she surprised herself when a jolt of arousal made her moan. Her backpack was uncomfortable and Valerie was digging into her spine, but as long as *he* was there, his body pressed hard against hers, his hand wandering from her hip towards her chest, she found that she really couldn't care about the possibility of a cracked rib or accidental taser-ing. She pushed the jacket from his shoulders, and it fell to floor as she ran her hands down his arms – oh god, those arms – then moved her attention to the hem of his t-shirt and slipped her fingers beneath the fabric. When he felt a light brush against his taut stomach, he broke the kiss with a groan and leant his head against the wall beside hers; his breathing was rapid as he tried to regain some control. He grabbed her hands and swiftly pinned them above her head. Looking down at her, pupils blown open with lust, his mind fought for the dominance of his own body. He gave her a peck on the lips and moved away from her, giving her some personal space again.

The little timer on the oven buzzed, and he allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation on his timing; he was being a complete tease and he knew it. On opening the oven door he was assaulted by the scents of rich meat ragu and creamy bubbling cheese. He glanced back at her to find her still leaning against the wall, her eyes closed and her hair in complete disarray from the motorbike ride and where he had his hands tangled in the wild tresses. "Darcy", he called softly, breaking her from her reverie, "dinner's ready. I made lasagne – I hope that's OK". The look she gave him – her eyes wide and her soft lips slightly parted – nearly had him abandoning the food to a fate of burning. God, she looked so thoroughly fuckable he almost couldn't resist, but he (somehow) managed to, though his knees were a little weak and his head swam as even more of his blood supply headed for his groin. She shook her head and cleared her throat as she came back to herself and walked (rather wobbly, but he knew the feeling) over to the table and took a seat whilst he served. Lasagne, a bowl of salad with dressings for the table and he laughed at her incredulous look. He lit two candles and set them on the table after he presented her plate. The happy and satisfied feeling in his chest grew when she closed her eyes to take a deep breath of the scented steam – he was a good cook and was incredibly smug that now she knew it too.

At the first forkful Darcy moaned in appreciation, and the guttural sound went straight to Clint's cock. She looked at him from beneath her lashes, "Marry me. You cook and kill bad guys and I'll lounge around in negligée and just look gorgeous". Clint laughed and Darcy grinned at him before tucking in to her meal. He poured them each wine and they enjoyed the evening, bantering back and forth and telling the other more about themselves.

The meal worked in two ways. Firstly, it got them fed; Darcy appreciated this as she had had to skip lunch to keep up with Jane's pace of work. Secondly, it gave them both a chance to calm down which Clint was grateful for because he really didn't want to go off like an inexperienced teenager and leave her disappointed. When they finished their plates and drunk all the wine, he put the cooled leftovers into the fridge and the plates into the sink. Whilst he ran them over with water, he felt her small hands slip around his sides and she lightly bit his shoulderblade through his t-shirt. "Leave them", she murmured into his back, "there's something more important here than dishes". His breath caught and she slid round to squeeze between him and the sink. Pressed against him so intimately, she couldn't fail to notice the effect her proximity was having on him. "Don't think that I'm a total slut for this, but as the saying goes: take me to bed or lose me forever".

He took a deep breath, "As long as you don't think I'm a horny old pervert who's after a hot young piece of ass". The look she threw him as she placed both hands on his chest and pushed him back from the sink simply said _who cares?_, so he was more than happy to scoop her up into his arms and carry her through to the bedroom.

Their need for each other, the desperate want which the bike ride had ignited in them, had receded a little and their kiss as Clint lowered her to the bed was deep and passionate. Her jacket was long gone, probably somewhere between the dining table and the bedroom door and he was extremely pleased that the form-fitting red top was wrap-tied at the side. As he continued their kiss his fingers toyed with the ribbons, slowly pulling the bow undone but giving the young woman (who was currently doing delicious things with her fingers in the short hair at the back of his neck) plenty of time to back out if she wanted. From the way that she was sucking at his lower lip, he doubted that would happen.

The ribbon slipped apart and his callused fingers smoothed against the flat porcelain of her stomach, lightly outlining the toned muscles there. She made a cute little huffing noise into his mouth and squirmed, so he pulled back a moment. "Ticklish? Interesting…" he smirked at her as she lay pinned beneath his body. She retaliated by digging an elbow into his ribs before tugging the hem of his t-shirt over his head, trapping his arms and blocking his view of her. He shivered when she ran a fingernail slowly along a raised, welted scar on his lower back.

"And you're wearing too many clothes for a man with a body like yours. Kindly remedy as soon as humanly possible, Agent Barton". Oh god, he'd not be able to hear his status said again without thinking of her. He pulled his t-shirt the rest of the way off, throwing it to the floor before capturing her mouth again, his tongue sliding between her lips as he took back control. She gave a muffled groan, "Fine. Round one to the secret agent with the magic mouth," she moaned again when he ran a hand up her sternum and rested on her bra, his thumb brushing at her nipple through the material, "and the magic hands. Sweet zombie jeesus, do that again". He grinned against her skin as he kissed her throat and made her go "ahhhh" and sink into the mattress. One of her feet, still encased in the wickedly heeled boot, was running up and down the back of his calf.

He pawed her top off her shoulders, so she pushed him back to sit upright and shimmy it down her arms; she became entranced with his chest and stomach then, so perfectly close to her already. She ran her fingertips over his well-defined before gently following his happy trail to the waistband of his jeans as he sucked a breath between his teeth. "You're still wearing too much, Barton", she gave him a devilish smile, which he returned and she felt a stab of lust in her gut. "Dammit, now!" and she fumbled with the button. He laughed and pushed her flat to the bed again.

"And who put you in command? I think, with those boots of yours, that you are *far*more dressed than I am", and with that he ran his hand down her left leg, unzipping the boot when it obstructed him. He slowly pulled it off, neatly zipping it back up again and standing it beside the bed before turning his attention to the other. It was once the boots were reunited that Clint laughed again, "A bit out of season Darcy," he chuckled, tapping her Santa socks as she blushed. He rolled them both off, balled them up and threw them over his shoulder. He kissed her instep and Darcy groaned, her head falling back onto the pillows, her hips flexing. Normally she didn't let anyone near her feet, but if she'd known just how sexy it could be…

His fingers were walking back up her legs, caressing through the tight denim and demanding her focus. Her breath was starting to become shaky and her eyes were half-shut – the lust in his gaze as it raked her body took her breath away. "Please Clint," she whimpered (jeez, she didn't sound that weak, did she?) "I really can't take much more teasing." He dropped a kiss on her stomach and gently ran his thumb along the trouser seam between her legs. The reaction was instantaneous – her hips lifted right off the bed and her hands grasped the bedclothes in white-knuckled fists. She was right, she really couldn't stand to wait. If his calculations were correct then she hadn't had any, uh, relations with anyone else (briefly ignoring the evening of the storm) for almost a year. Damn. Poor Darcy, she _really_ needed him to do this.

Kissing his way down her tightening stomach, he popped the button on her jeans and slid the zip down, peeling them open. The scent of her arousal hit him like a ton of bricks and caused the primal part of him to surge forwards with demands of _takingclaimingowning_ but he fought it down. Sure, he wanted her – wanted her like crazy – but he also wanted to do this for her. He pushed her jeans off her hips, lifting her to peel them down her legs. They followed the way of his t-shirt, ending somewhere over by the door. His were still on, though she had succeeded at undoing the button and they dipped open in a deliciously enticing "v".

Darcy stared at him – his body was tight with muscle and barely contained lust and she shivered as his hot eyes devoured her. She was starting to feel self-conscious (she was a nerd with a big rack, what did she *really* bring to this bed?) and she bit her lip when he focussed on her chest – it was almost bursting from the skimpy black-and-red cotton support. And oh boy she was grateful she'd splashed her cash on the set so her panties weren't horrendously mismatched. She gasped when he lunged forwards, hungrily biting and kissing at her soft flesh. She breathed in deeply, thrusting her breasts upwards and she heard a deep growl. His hands pushed beneath her back, arching her further into his mouth, where he laved his tongue over her skin – and deftly unfastened her bra. Once more a stab of uncertainty went through her, and he picked up on the tension in her body, raising his head. His eyes were dark, but he said clearly (and far more steadily than she thought possible, in the circumstances) "If you don't feel comfortable, we don't have to do this". Well, that was her downfall – she'd never been with a guy who was prepared to stop getting his rocks off because of her. All trepidation vanished and caution? Yeah, that was out the window. Her headshake was so emphatic that the man knelt between her legs gave a quick bark of laughter.

"If you stop now I'll break your kneecaps" she replied, her voice dripping with lust and amusement. Her giggle dissolved into a moan when he threw her bra _somewhere_ and ran the flat of his tongue over her nipple, nibbling it gently. His hand was ghosting up her tensing thigh, and she bucked her hips with an almost-scream when his fingers drifted lightly over her wet core. He raised his head and watched her face covetously as her emotions were laid bare. "Oh god, Clint. Please do that again, I'm begging you please god!" and he smirked as he complied, revelling in the reactions he was able to draw from her. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open, gasping at the air. He leaned up and captured her mouth with his as he firmly cupped his hand over her, fingers teasing and sliding through her cleft before he pushed one into her to the first knuckle, his thumb scribing circles on and around her clit.

Her hands flew to hold his shoulders, nails digging sharply into his flesh as she moaned into his mouth. He slowly started to pump his finger in and out before adding first a second and then a third, gently fucking her – her hips flexed furiously in time to the thrusts. She broke the kiss, and threw her head back. "Oh god, Clint, I'm gonna…Jesusfuck…" and as he crooked his fingers and bit her shoulder she screamed his name and pulsed and tightened around him. He continued to move his fingers, drawing out her orgasm and watching the flush creep across her face and chest. She twitched and moaned, long and low, before opening her eyes; as soon as he met her gaze he was lost – he had to have her. She smiled sweetly at him whilst lewdly rolling her hips, his fingers still embedded deep within. He drew them out slowly and her eyelids fluttered as she bit her lip, grinning up at him.

She reached between them, pushing her hand inside his trousers and pressing the heel of it against his hard flesh. He groaned, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder – his breath hitched when her fingers brushed his length and his hips jerked. "I really, _really_ hope you were fully prepared for this evening Clint, coz if there's no glove then there'll be no love". She firmly cupped his balls and he was barely able to hear her over the howling of his primal side. Squeezing gently before releasing, she looked at him "Oy, are you listening?" He snapped his attention up, his eyes wild, before scrambling off the bed and staggering through to the other room to find his jacket. Darcy could hear cursing and decided to help. Well, maybe watch that sweet behind more than help, but she was only human. Her knees trembled when she stood and she could feel her own sticky wetness painting the inside of her thighs.

Clint was desperately scrabbling through the pockets of his leather jacket when she appeared in the doorway. His triumphant "ah-HA!" faded in his throat as he caught sight of her; she quirked an eyebrow and he clutched the little blue box to his chest like a life-saver. She moved forwards and he was a rabbit caught in headlights – totally unable to move as his fate, his doom, bore down upon him. Her skin shone in the soft light from the forgotten table candles, pale and flawless, shadows accenting her curves. His mind had gone blank.

Darcy tutted and smacked his toned arsecheek, jolting him from his freeze with an adorably sheepish smile. "March yourself back in the bedroom soldier. It's _my_ turn to lavish some attention on _you_". He swallowed, suddenly painfully hard inside his jeans from where the interlude had caused a momentary wilting. She followed him back through to the bedroom (after blowing out the candles) and grabbed his bicep, making him turn towards her and she leapt into his arms. Her kiss was deep, demanding and utterly destroyed him. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, and she could feel his hard length through the tough fabric, and it was driving her crazy.

He staggered backwards until his knees hit the bed and he allowed himself to topple backwards onto the mattress, Darcy moving her legs just in time so that they weren't trapped beneath him. He stared up at her when she broke the kiss and leaned back, her hands on his pectorals. She smiled wickedly and rolled her hips, and he could feel her heat through his trousers. He groaned and tried to stop his eyes from rolling back in his head – he desperately wanted to see her moving on top of him. She bent to kiss him and flexed her hips again, swallowing his groan. This was the sweetest torture he had ever endured. The friction against his cock was not enough – he needed more, needed her, and most of all he needed out of his trousers. He pulled her bodily forwards, seating her on his stomach (oh god, she was wet, he could feel her sliding over his skin) and then wriggling his jeans down, kicking them off the end of the bed. She bit back a moan as his movements slid hard muscles over her clit, and shifted back to rest on his hips again, running her slit down the length of his cock and making his breathing stutter.

She plucked the box of condoms from his nerveless grip, pulled one out and threw the rest onto the nightstand, tore the little foil square open delicately. Slowly, so slowly he nearly broke and begged, she rolled the little sheath onto him as he twitched in her hands. His grip on her hips was firm but not dominating – he was letting her take the lead and she did so with relish. She ground down gently and smirked at his almost-pained groan. His hips were trying to move in time with hers; he was at the very end of his control and a sheen of sweat coated his skin. Darcy wasn't much better – her hair was gluing itself to her back and, well, she _stuck_ to him where they touched. She wasn't sure how long she would last, but she also couldn't resist him any longer.

She leaned up, steading herself with a hand on his chest whilst his grip shifted to her thighs. She reached between them, pumped his cock firmly and slowly sank down onto him. They both groaned and Clint's hands tightened until Darcy was certain there would be bruises by morning. She threw her head back, her eyes closed in pleasure mixed with the smallest bite of pain – it had been a while. "You OK?" Clint gasped out; Darcy nodded, adjusting to, and revelling in, the feeling of being filled and stretched. She tried a slow rotation of her hips and couldn't help the self-satisfied hum as the friction made little lightning bolts shoot from her clit and up her spine. "Fuck, Darcy", came a growl from beneath her, making her open her eyes and stare down through a haze of lust, "Fuckit, you're so fucking tight". Clint was gritting his teeth and she realised that she could feel tremors from his thigh muscles.

Once again he saw that sinful smile and she pushed herself upwards, almost entirely off his cock. He felt her clenching around the sensitive head and there was nothing he could do except hold onto her and try to breathe. Once more, so slowly it made his whole body ache with tension, she lowered herself and gave a delightful roll of her hips once he was fully seated deep inside her. His thighs were shaking more, his eyes half-closed as he stared up at her, watching her take pleasure from his body and it was such a turn-on that he felt he could explode at any moment.

Another hip swirl and he snapped, surging upwards and flipping them over; Darcy gave a squeal of surprise when she suddenly found herself flat on her back and staring up into his hungry face. The balance of power had shifted – he'd wrenched it from her and all she could do was gasp "Fuck me 'til I scream Clint". His hips snapped forwards in compliance and her heels were locked together at his lower back and pulling him towards her whenever he drew out. There was a catch in her throat each time he plunged into her wet heat, could feel the clench of her cunt whenever he pulled back, trying to keep him buried inside her. Her muscles were milking at him, and he stilled for a moment of composure and push down the orgasm that was threatening to rise.

Her hands were around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss, her fingers in his hair. He reached up and took hold of one of them, threading his own fingers through hers and holding it tight. She was pinned beneath him, his tongue in her mouth mimicking the thrust of his hips. She was so close, panting and gasping and then he changed his angle and it was just so fucking _perfect_, hitting the spot inside her that most of her ex-boyfriends couldn't have found with a map. The hand in his tightened, the one holding him to their kiss dug nails into the meat of his shoulder. "Oh god, Clint", his name drawn out and dripping with desperate lust, was the last straw – he couldn't stop himself from pounding harder and faster into her willing body. His arm snaked beneath her shoulders, holding her in a crushing embrace. The angle, coupled with the speed and power behind each thrust, made her clench even tighter around him, her walls rippling as her orgasm rose higher and higher. She screamed as it ripped free, her spine arching as her muscles tensed. Clint squeezed his eyes shut as she clamped around him and his rhythm stuttered. He buried his face in her tangled hair, shouting his own release only moments after hers. He collapsed slightly to the side as his arms gave out.

He continued to hold her for a few minutes as their heart rates slowed and sweat started to cool on their bodies. Eventually, Darcy gave Clint an elbow in the ribs (in the nicest possible way) and he drew out, pulled off and knotted the condom and trotted to the small bathroom down the hall to clean up. Darcy lay basking in the glow from, in her opinion, a rather spectacular pair of orgasms. Clint came back with a damp washcloth which she gratefully rubbed over her chest and neck, cooling her and wiping off some of the sweat. She dropped it next to the box of condoms as he climbed back onto the bed, stretched out with his hands behind his head. She snuggled in next to him, draping a leg over his. "You have totally ruined me for every man ever. I hope you're happy". He gave his best shit-eating grin and wrapped an arm behind her to hold her close. As the long day caught up and the adrenaline left, somnolence took her in arms as undeniable as Clint's own, and so she missed his murmured reply:

"Absolutely ecstatic, Darcy. That was my intention"

**And done! I know it seems strange, but this chapter really dragged for me, and now I can get on with writing the next one which has been kinda yelling away at the back of my head!**


	7. Chapter 7

Darcy woke to sunlight and soft snoring and for a brief moment had absolutely no idea where she was. After a second of disorientation and not recognising the ceiling she had a rush of blood both to her face as a blush and to her groin in a delightful tingle as she remembered where she was and who she was with. After the initial disbelief (because, seriously, how could a geek like her have ever managed to bed a man _that_ gorgeous?) she turned her head to look at him. He looked so peaceful, about as cute as a guy fifteen years older than her could ever be considered. She wondered about waking him until a rather persistent ache in her bladder made her realise that she needed to avail herself of the facilities, so she crept from the bed, slipped on his discarded t-shirt to give herself a vague semblance of modesty and went to find her backpack, which contained her toothbrush. Two birds with one stone and all that.

Having taken care of the urgency and got rid of her morning breath, she stared at herself in the large mirror over the sink and tool stock. Hair a mess, still wearing remnants of the previous evenings make-up; generally a bit of a car crash. She scrubbed her face clean, but she couldn't find her hairbrush. Oh well, the "bed-head" look was in, right? She gave the shower-over-tub an appraising look, but decided that it could wait – right now she fancied some breakfast. Rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes as she unlocked the bathroom door, she walked straight into the hard chest of Clint, who was waiting just outside the door. He caught her arms as she started to fall backwards with a surprised squeak, pulling her back to him in an effort to keep her steady. Her hands reflexively grabbed for him, clutching at his bare back as she tried not to fall on her arse. She ended up in a close embrace with her face pressed against his chest as he chuckled into her hair. She gave a hum of satisfaction against his skin, rubbed her cheek against him and felt his heartbeat start to increase; he gave a soft growl when she snaked her tongue out and licked the smooth skin. He gently pushed her away. "Just give me a minute and I will be right with you" he winked at her as he lifted (seriously! Like she was as light as a feather!) her out of the way and scooted past her. She snorted and went through to the kitchen/living room in search of food.

Unsurprisingly, there were no Eggos or Poptarts, none of the instant "nuke it and enjoy the additives" foods to which she had become accustomed, and she was grateful for the chance to actually eat a little healthier. Finding all the ingredients for blueberry pancakes (she had been hoping for a bag of chocolate chips, but evidently Clint was a nuts-and-berries kind of snackist) she was just in the process of whisking up the batter when strong arms crept around her waist.

Afterwards, she denied the ear-piercing shriek which Clint swore blind she had released, even though… seriously, _how_ the hell can you get crept up on when your sightline cover the only door he _had_ to have walked through to reach you. She did not, however, deny whirling round and smacking him in the chest with a batter-coated fork. She'd scored a hit on the mighty Hawkeye, and if she agreed to keep quiet about the Taser then she was sure going to boast about this. He looked down, smiling at her outburst as a trail of batter slowly dripped from his pectoral onto one of his cut-glass abdominals and, as she watched transfixed, came to rest against the waistband of a pair of grey sweatpants. She glanced back to his face, swallowing hard as she tried not to hyperventilate with lust, a blush slowly creeping across her expressive face. His grin turned from amused to extremely cocky in a (rapidly accelerating) heartbeat. As if in slow motion he took the fork from her slack grip, pushed it and the bowl to one side and then, before she could even blink, she was sat on the counter and he was pushing between her knees and kissing her so astonishingly well that she forgot to be mad at him for making her jump out of her skin. Her bare feet curled around the back of his thighs and pulled him closer, her hands clasped behind his neck to hold him close.

Clint growled into their kiss, leaning above her and making her have to tilt herself back if she wanted to keep their contact. Seeing her make them breakfast whilst wearing _his_ t-shirt had awoken the desire of ownership once more and god damn it this time he was going to give into it. He was dominating their embrace – demanding she give him what he wanted – and she was giving in willingly, offering herself up to him. Her hands left his neck to prevent herself from falling over backwards as he shifted her balance, making her first lean back and then pressing her down to her elbows. She was moaning gently, her breath catching when he ran an authoritive hand up her thigh, pushing his t-shirt up before delving straight between her legs. She broke their kiss with a groan, her head falling back as her hips bucked and two fingers slid easily into her. He bit her neck, marking the pale skin red and sucking up a bruise before soothing the abused skin with a swipe of his tongue. Her arms gave out, falling from her elbows to her back and she reached for him again. His fingers slipped free of her and he took hold of her wrists pushing them above her head and curling her fingers over the edge of the worktop. "Stay there" he growled against her throat, feeling her swallow and nod her compliance.

Darcy was torn – she was meant to be one of those fiercely independent women and here she was doing _exactly _what a man told her. And screw her seven ways to Sunday but damn if she didn't find it one of the biggest turn-ons ever. She was just adding it to her now very long list of "Things I Like About Clint" when he left off worrying her throat and stepped back, panting slightly. She lay there for a few moments, exposed on the worktop, unable to either see nor hear him. "Clint?" shit, she sounded weak and desperate, "What are you…JESUSFUCK!" and he was _right there_, his tongue running up her slit, his breath hot on her sensitive skin. His hands ran up her legs, lifting her thighs onto his shoulders before wrapping his fingers around her hips and bodily pulling her onto his tongue. She started to reach down to tangle her fingers in his hair but before she could do more than shift her weight he pulled his head away. She whimpered at the loss.

"I told you to keep your hands up. Do it again and I'll stop" he growled before gently nipping at the soft flesh of her thigh. He breathed in deeply, taking her scent and memorising it before letting it out as a hot gust over her damp skin, making her shiver beneath him. Darcy whimpered again and Clint took pity on her, rubbing her clitoris gently with his nose before delving his tongue inside her, sucking and nibbling until she was shaking and a constant stream of curses dripped from her lips. He swirled his tongue around the most sensitive part of her body and her back arched, her thighs tightening across his shoulders and her heels digging into his back. The curses were louder and less coherent, becoming sporadic as breath came less and less easily.

Darcy felt as if she was barely holding onto her sanity, her white-knuckle grip on the worktop and Clints tongue in her cunt the only things anchoring her. The blood was pounding in her ears and her eyes were screwed shut, rendering her both deaf and blind, her entire body focussing instead on everything that the man between her legs was doing to her. And then, dear god, he was suckling on her clit and he _hummed_ and the world shattered around her with a scream which only stopped once her lungs were completely emptied.

Slowly she came back to herself, feeling him gently smoothing her hair. She stared into his blue-grey eyes for a moment before grabbing him and pulling him into a bruising kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, his weight pressing her down. She wrapped her legs around his, pulling his crotch into hers and he laughed softly into her mouth before pulling back. She gave a whine of complaint but it was drowned out by an insistent rumbling from her stomach. "Breakfast first Darcy, we've got to keep our strength up" and he helped her down from the worktop, catching her into his arms when her knees gave out. "Darcy Lewis, breakfast of champions" he teased once he had carried her to the couch and she threw him a look. She wasn't certain what sort of look it was – she'd been going for annoyed tolerance, but suspected that it was spoilt by her crimson blush. He sniggered and left her trying to gather her dignity.

Darcy really didn't mind that he had taken over making the breakfast. The thought of not having to be the responsible one, of not having to make sure that Jane had eaten – or even slept – was really rather appealing. Come Monday she'd be back having to mother Jane (and quite possibly Erik as well) but for now she could relax and enjoy her weekend with a super-sexy secret agent who could cook and do the most phenomenal things with his mouth. So, she crossed her ankles up on the low table in front of the couch and relaxed back with her hands behind her head and a self-satisfied smile.

Clint was watching her from the small kitchenette as he re-mixed and then cooked up the pancakes. He was thoughtful – he'd been on countless missions and met, wooed and sometimes assassinated some of the most beautiful women in the world and yet none of them had got under his skin quite like the kooky, delightful Darcy. He didn't know whether it was her natural honesty or her general exuberance for anything which could be called "different" (she had responded with nothing but enthusiasm over his circus upbringing, which had been rather refreshing) but, well, it was incredibly attractive. He refused to think that he was falling for her, despite the warm feeling which lodged itself in his stomach as he watched her relax, wearing _his_ t-shirt and basking in the post-orgasm glow which _he_ had caused. And now the pancakes were ready and he was starving after whetting his appetite on the young woman. He loaded up two plates with a stack each, snagged the maple syrup from the cupboard and joined Darcy on the couch.

The apartment had a TV with basic cable so they watched cartoons whilst they ate, Clint derisively pointing out all the flaws in a CGI Link's technique whilst Darcy giggled over the mental image of Clint wearing a little green jerkin and a pointy hat. The plates were thoroughly cleaned (Darcy was tempted to drink the maple syrup neat because it really was the good shit which didn't come in a bear shaped bottle, but successfully managed to resist looking like a complete pig in front of the hot man who gave her the sexy times) and they were relaxing on the couch together, feeling far more familiar and domesticated than they had any right to be on what was, essentially, their second date. Her bare legs were across his lap and he was unconsciously rubbing gentle circles on her ankle, which was starting to reduce her to a puddle of goo. She had to move or she'd jump right there, and Spongebob was not a good sex soundtrack. She swung her feet to the floor, catching a glimpse of swiftly-hidden disappointment from Clint, and stood.

"I need a shower. Seriously, I smell like a brothel", Clint smiled and shook his head in denial, before turning to watch her collect her backpack again and scurry to the bathroom. Well, she had great legs and his t-shirt barely covered a third of her thighs and he was only human. When he heard the bathroom door close he let out a sigh and pressed the heel of his palm against his semi-hard cock (jesus, those legs…) before grabbing the plates. Time to wash up the dishes and then see if she'd remembered to lock the bathroom door…

She had. Ah well, he'd just have to prep for the day he had planned. As he was loading the last few items into a large backpack he heard the water cut out, and shortly afterwards the door opened to reveal the object of his fantasies for the past week, wet hair down her back and clad only with a towel. He dropped the bag from nerveless fingers as his mouth fell open. The morning light made her damp skin glisten and he wanted nothing more than to taste it, to spend hours worshipping her. She looked a little disconcerted at his expression. "What?"

He shook his head to clear it a little. "Darcy, you have no idea just how god damned sexy you are, do you?" He was answered with the most gorgeous embarrassed blush and she ducked her head with a smile. He crossed the room and lifted her face to his by gently grasping her chin. He kissed her softly, ghosting his lips over her as their breath mingled. "Don't ever hide away from it, please Darcy? You kill me by being so amazing and I wish I could be more like you". She opened her mouth against his to protest and he silenced her with his tongue. He wrapped his arms around her and Darcy seemed to melt against him, damp skin against his.

Darcy was truly overwhelmed. Clint spoke with such conviction that she couldn't help but believe him, making him the most honest and passionate of all her previous lovers. And yet, the gentlest of his kisses had her knees both metaphorically and literally quivering. She couldn't help it. She burst into tears.

Clint was absolutely mortified that he had caused such a reaction, so he pulled her into a tight hug until her snuffles were much reduced and she pulled back with an embarrassed laugh and an apology, dashing away the tears on her cheeks with her hand. He held onto her shoulders and looked at her earnestly. "I'm not sorry for saying that, because it's true. I _am_ sorry that I made you cry, so I hope that our date for the day cheers you up". He looked amused at her quizzical, though red-rimmed, look. "It's a surprise. Wear something comfortable, we're going by bike". He left her to get dressed with a quick touch of her cheek before he vanished into the bathroom himself.

Twenty minutes later they were gathering the bags. They both wore jeans and t-shirts (both shirts were Clint's because Darcy claimed she didn't have anything suitable and that warm bubble was back in his gut at seeing her in the purple t-shirt he'd worn on their first date) and he threw the large backpack to her. Her arms sagged at the sudden weight and she looked alarmed. "Oh no you don't" he cautioned as she made to peek inside and he helped her put it on. Her eyes were sparkling again, and he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before kissing her forehead. "Ready?"

"Always."


	8. Chapter 8

**Firstly – I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to update. I was speeding on with the writing for this chapter and then I read it back and it was horrendous! So I scrapped it, saved some of the best bits, and started again. And then life got in the way and my son's routine changed so that I had *no* time to myself….**

**Anyway, I suck. The next one should be quicker. I hope.**

**Secondly, hello to all the new people that have alerted and wotnotted me! Welcome – I hope that I live up to expectations!**

**And on with the long awaited chapter…**

They rode north towards the mountains, her arms tight about his waist and her cheek pressed against his back. The sensation of her gentle fingers just above the waistband of his jeans was enough of a distraction that he nearly missed the turning onto the rough dusty track which he had scouted the previous day, having to turn sharper than he would have liked. Darcy seemed a little subdued and he sincerely hoped that he hadn't fucked up this whole… whatever-it-was. To FUBAR something before it had truly happened was the story of his life; he was determined not to let the young woman, who had trusted him as soon as she met him, become a casualty of his own stupidity. He briefly let go of one handlebar and squeezed her grip, getting a tightening in response before he was back in full control of the bucking bike.

Darcy was trying very hard not to think about what Clint had said and how it made her feel. She was horrified at her reaction (seriously, who would want to sleep with the emotionally unstable psycho-chick? She'd be boiling his pet bunny next) and completely embarrassed. How the hell he could find her sexy after that sort of outburst probably spoke volumes for his own mental health. Maybe she should have legged it whilst he was in the bathroom and saved herself from the possibility of being forced to dig her own grave in the desert, to be found in six months having been chewed on by coyotes. Her hands started to shake, but then he'd covered them with his own and squeezed and it felt like everything was OK again and he wasn't going to feed her to a family of nuclear-blast-infected mutants. She made a mental note to stop watching horror movies. Clint wouldn't have said those things if he intended to wear her skin like a mask and dance around naked. "Bad brain", she scolded, "No biscuit!" And with that she stamped down all the stupid and got on with enjoying the ride.

They pulled up near a small copse of trees which overhung a creek – the only splash of green which was neither cactus nor thorn bush for miles around. After the recent storms the creek flowed fast, burbling over the stones in the shallows and almost begging to be paddled in. Darcy's face lit up with a smile, and Clint once more felt a warm glow as he helped her with the heavy backpack. With their dalliance over breakfast it was already almost lunchtime, and so they worked together to set up a small picnic blanket (very small – she would be practically sitting in his lap) beneath the branches of a tree, unpacking the previous evenings left over salad and some bread rolls. Clint dug deeper into the bag and pulled out a couple of beer bottles. They snuggled together, clinking drinks before the first swig and tucking into their light lunch.

After eating there was another round of beer, and Clint rested back on his elbows, idly tracking the flight of a dragonfly over the glinting water. Its zigzag flight was erratic and he mentally judged the timing required to knock it from the sky. A blink at what he calculated to be the right moment, and the iridescent insect flew on unmolested.

Darcy shifted next to him, angling herself to comfortably rest her head on his stomach. He dropped flat onto his back, pillowing his own head on an arm whilst his other hand gently twisted locks of her hair around his fingers. A breeze ruffled the leaves above them and his eyes drifted closed as he gave a sigh of what could only be described as contentment. He realised that for the first time in a long time he was actually happy and relaxed. He enjoyed the feeling of Darcy so close to him, felt comfortable around her. He was starting to accept what this could mean, even if he continued to refuse to name the emotion.

His ruminations were interrupted by a tickle on his ribs, and he propped himself back up to look at the young woman whom he… liked a lot. She twisted her head and squinted up at him. The expression, whilst not sexy, still seemed adorably cute. "What's up, Darce?"

She smirked. "You owe me". At his blank expression she ran a finger down his ribs. "A demo of your mad ninja skills, of course. You still haven't shown me your moves." He looked thoughtful for a moment and then gave her his best smile (did her toes just tingle?) and pushed her to sitting before hand-springing to his feet and stretching out. She couldn't stop her jaw from dropping when he pulled his t-shirt off and flexed his shoulders. The shirt landed in her lap and she gathered it into her arms, folding it roughly. When he turned away and stretched his arms above his head, she couldn't resist discretely sniffing the soft fabric as she watched his shoulder muscles move beneath the lightly tanned, though somewhat scarred, skin. The t-shirt smelt warm, of clean sweat and lightly musky. It smelt… safe, like Clint. She could almost hear her lady-organs sitting up and begging for more. Carefully she set the cloth to one side, determined to focus on the man rather than the material.

His first trick was a simple handstand, a delicate blush forming across his shoulders as blood flushed the muscles holding him as steady and as straight as an arrow. He turned and handwalked a few steps towards her, grinning at her amazed expression as he slowly brought one hand up and out perfectly horizontal from his body and his legs split to maintain his balance. She saw a flutter of strain cross his face before he delicately swung his legs behind him, using their movement to fuel the spring from his hand and bring himself back upright.

"Darcy honey, close your mouth or you'll end up swallowing a bug" he laughed, and she shut her dropped jaw with an audible snap. He shook out his arms, relaxing the muscles and chasing away any lactic acid which had formed from the sudden exercise. Her eyes were fixed on his chest and abs, watching the light play over a light sheen of sweat. She was finding it harder to breathe again, and her focus was glazing over with lust. Clint had one of those gloriously cocky half-smiles on his face – he knew exactly what he was doing to her brain – as he turned and paced away from her. He could feel the heat from her gaze scorching into his back (actually, Darcy was watching the glory that was his denim-clad arse, but her hunger was the same) and he turned suddenly, running a few steps before launching into a series of handsprings and flips, somersaulting to a halt at the waters edge. He barely had a moment to steady himself before Darcy hit him from behind like sort of Clint-seeking missile and latching her mouth to the junction of his neck and shoulder. Her weight drove him to his knees, landing in the shallows of the stream and he gasped at the combination of the crisp water and the sensation of Darcy sucking at his neck hard enough to bruise. He staggered back to his feet and somehow, god knows how they managed it without Darcy touching the ground, he ended up with her gathered into his arms as she worried at his neck. He groaned when she soothed the abused skin with gentle kisses.

He carried her back to the blanket, his vision blurring slightly when she nibbled up his neck to his ear and he could hear her ragged breathing. He sank to his knees, her legs around his waist as she ground against him and making it so very difficult for him to think of anything except taking her right there, right then. Lowering them both onto the blanket, he ran an unsteady hand up her leg and swiftly unzipping her jeans and helping her wriggle them off. She kissed him, biting at his tongue and lower lip as she fought him for dominance, wresting control from him as his mind gradually blanked under her assault.

Her hands were roaming his back, her fingernails clawing across his skin; he barely kept hold of his self-control when the burn set in and he gasped into her mouth. Darcy broke their kiss and reached into his front jeans pocket, his breath hitching into a light moan when she came close to brushing him through the fabric lining, and pulled out the condom which he hadn't really planned to put to use (although he had hoped that it might be). Then, showing the strength that still surprised him, he was pushed over and onto his back, his hips clamped tightly between her thighs. Her borrowed t-shirt had vanished at some point – he couldn't be certain when – and she sat above him clad only in cotton and lace. He gave a strangled groan when she guided his hands to cup her breasts whilst she ground down against him, her head back and eyes closed as she rolled her hips back and forth.

She scrabbled at his jeans, popping the button on the rough fabric and pulling down the fly; he kneaded her breasts as she then slipped a hand inside her panties, her breath catching as she fingered herself. "Jeez Darce," he panted, his eyes glued to her hand moving inside the delicate fabric, "want you so bad". And then she was pushing down his jeans and ripping the condom packet open with her teeth before hurriedly rolling it onto him. Her hands slipped, and he dropped his hands to take over the task as she scrambled back to her feet, pulling off her panties and tossing them aside.

She straddled him again, rubbing herself against his hard length as he gripped her thighs and tried to pull her onto him. With one hand splayed across his chest she raised herself onto her knees, and their groans matched as she lowered back down, impaled upon him.

"Fuh-fuck Darcy. You're fuh-huking amazing" Clint stuttered out as the young woman atop him clenched her muscles and squeezed him. He thought he would go insane if she did that too often – little lights sparked behind his eyelids as her body flexed and moved. Darcy herself was so close that the slightest extra stimulation would send her over. She could feel his heartbeat, strong but fast, beneath her fingers and she used the pulse to ground herself, calming back from the edge of her own abyss. She held still for a few moments more, just to be sure. They stared at each other, and then the mood changed from needing a fast, hard to fuck to… something deeper. She slowly leaned forwards and their lips met, far more gently than before as they sweetly tasted each other. Clint's hips flexed up into her, and they were moving together in a far more intimate dance than either had experienced in a long time.

As their focus was absolutely on each other the flash of light reflecting off glass, halfway up the rocky side of a hill approximately two miles away, went unnoticed…


	9. Chapter 9

Clint awoke first, the chill of early evening on his arms and chest rousing him from his light doze caused by fresh air and "wholesome" (he tried not to snigger) exercise. His arm was wrapped around Darcy's shoulders and she was draped over him, her leg over his and her hand resting over his heart. She was wearing his t-shirt again and, although her head was heavy and her hair was tickling him something rotten, he found he was rather reluctant to move and disturb her. Still, he could feel her give a very faint shiver and, judging by the length of the shadows, they had slept for a couple of hours and it was therefore time to go home. His hand slid down her back until it reached her bare buttock, stroking gently at the smooth silk of her skin. As she stirred against him he used his other hand to push the hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She snuggled her face against him as she tried to escape wakefulness and his heart lurched before thumping harder. Yeah, he couldn't deny it now. He was almost certainly falling in love with her.

"Come on Darcy. Wake up sweetheart – we gotta head home." There was a mumbled reply that sounded suspiciously like 'five more minutes' and he grinned before giving her a sharp slap on her rump. She jerked up with a startled squeak and swatted his ribcage before pushing herself to her feet with an "I'm up, alright?" and stretching. He tucked both hands behind his head and watched her with a cocky smile. Well, watched her arse when his t-shirt rode up to show the swell, watched her rather shapely thigh and calf muscles stretch. She looked over her shoulder at him, took in the look in his eye and elegantly raised a single brow.

"You wake me before I'm ready and _that_ is forfeit, dude. There are occasional exceptions to the rule, but definitely not when it's getting cold. So pack up while I get dressed, because I may be able to rock many different looks but frostbite isn't one I'd like to try." When he failed to move she threw his t-shirt straight into his face. "Shift it, or I'll insist on cooking dinner tonight." She smirked when he scrambled to his feet with a look of mock-panic.

They worked quickly and were soon bumping their way back to the desert road. Once on the blacktop, Clint opened up the engine and the throb grew to a bestial roar as they sped back to town, Darcy feeling as if she were flying. Her hands slid beneath his t-shirt and caressed the skin of his abs, and he nearly swerved off the road. Even over the rush of the wind, Clint heard an evil chuckle and had enough presence of mind to brace himself as her cold hands travelled over his ribs and up his chest, pushing the material of his shirt higher. His eyelids fluttered reflexively as she ran a thumbnail over one nipple – raised by the biting wind and her (quite frankly insane) ministrations. Shaking his head, he caught one of her hands just as she was about to scrape her nails down his front. "Darcy," he yelled above the wind, "for the love of god, stoppit or we'll crash!"

He felt her stand on her footpegs as she pressed against his back; her teeth grazed the soft flesh behind his ear as she said, loudly enough to be heard but less than a shout, "Spoilsport!" before she ran her tongue up the shell of his ear. He ducked his head with a stifled grunt as he tried to elude her teasing whilst his body, that great betrayer, practically purred and demanded that he pull the bike over and let her do wicked things to him. And oh my god, but that was tempting… And then they passed the town limit sign and Clint throttled back until he was going only slightly over the speed limit, gulping air in an effort to slow his heart rate.

She jumped nimbly from the back of the bike once he'd stopped in the covered carport – he tossed her the apartment key and she managed to snatch it from the air just before he bodily pulled her against him, moulding her body to his by inexorable force. "You unlock. I'll finish up out here and then you'd better be damn well rested after that nap because I don't see either of us getting much sleep tonight". She pulled back and gave him a look which simply said _Bitch, please!_ before she turned and sashayed off. He gently placed both palms on the smooth leather of the bike saddle and simply leaned there, breathing carefully as he kept a tenuous grip on his self-control. The girl drove him crazy with want and didn't draw back from the likelihood of getting burned. She was either nuttier than squirrel shit or simply trusted him not to hurt her, and he genuinely couldn't tell which option appealed to him more. He'd known two other women like her in that respect. One was now his best friend, the other… Well. That was over a long time ago. Too volatile to work together. Too alike, their jobs too closely linked. She'd broken his heart and left it strewn around the SHIELD base. He still didn't know if Darcy wouldn't follow Her example, but oddly enough he really wanted to find out.

He took a deep breath, locked the bike and followed the path of the young woman who'd managed to capture his heart in a net woven of the scent of lavender and strings of cuss words.

xx

Darcy managed to make it up the stairs to the apartment before she let her knees buckle, leaning heavily against the wall. The way he'd pulled her against him… God, he could have suggested screwing her in the middle of Main Street at noon and she was pretty sure her addled brain would have had her screaming yes. She fumbled the key into the lock and as she turned it a shiver shot down her spine, followed swiftly by a sense of unease. Darcy had long since learned to trust that instinct (thanks, fuckwipe from NY) so she opened the door cautiously. She could see her own backpack just by the door; Valerie was inside. Hooking a shoulder strap with her foot, she pulled the bag through the cracked open door. The comforting weight of the heavy Taser gave her courage and with a stealth born of paranoia, she slipped into the dusk-darkened room.

xx

As soon as Clint hit the top step he knew something was wrong – the door was open but it was dark inside. He silently cursed his lack of sidearm when he saw the two backpacks on the floor. Shit, Darcy had gone in, and only had a Taser to defend herself against god-knew-what. He'd made enemies throughout his whole life but his mind – now crystal clear and working overtime – couldn't pull up any likely suspects. He slipped into the apartment like a shadow, pushing the door closed behind him and crouching to make himself into a smaller target. He'd barely started to creep forwards when there was a loud bang and a crackle, followed by an "Oh _fuck_". A commotion just ahead of him and he launched himself forwards, tackling a person to the ground. It was a woman, not Darcy (her magnificent breasts being somewhat larger than the compact, leather covered pair against which his cheek was currently resting). The woman kept his momentum going, throwing him over her as she rolled onto her back, sweeping an arm out to break his hold and somehow getting a heeled boot delicately involved in the process as well. Now _that_ was a move he recognised.

"Nat, it's me! Stand down!" he gasped, winded from his landing and a punch to his ribs which he hadn't noticed connecting. The shadowed figure paused briefly before vaulting a fallen chair and flicking the light switch. Clint blinked against the harsh brightness, swiftly checking the room. His partner stood on the far side of the room, and Darcy…

Darcy lay sprawled on her front, her hair over her face and it looked like she was unconscious. He scrambled to her side, checking her breathing and was relieved to find it even, if a little shallow. "Sweetheart, you can wake up now", he turned to his surprise visitor "Nat, can you wrap me some ice?" and his attention was back on the younger woman, gently shaking her shoulder. A towel was pressed into his hand and he held the makeshift cold compress to the back of her skull.

She stirred and Clint gathered her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. Gently laying her on the bed, she rolled into his side, slipping a hand into his when he sat beside her. He kissed her knuckles. "Take a break Darce honey. You took a bit of a thump but I'm pretty sure you don't have a concussion so grab a bit of sleep – I'll sort everything out". She gave a whine of annoyance, and tried to hold onto him as he made to stand. "Sleep, sweetheart. I'll be back in a minute". She reluctantly let go of him and closed her eyes. Clint dropped a soft kiss on her forehead and pulled the door half closed behind as he left her to see exactly why Natasha had decided to interrupt both his holiday and his plans for the evening.

xx

Darcy jerked awake suddenly only minutes later to find herself alone on Clint's bed and with the sound of soft conversation coming from the living room. She groggily sat up, shaking her head to clear it and gingerly felt the tender spot where she'd… been thrown into the table. Huh. That was new. Pushing up to her feet, she tip-toed to the door and listened to the low rumble of Clint's voice (even in her knock-brained state it still put a warm tingle in the pit of her stomach). She could see a flash of red hair, and a flair of suspicion rose behind her eyes, which narrowed.

"Why wasn't I told sooner? I thought I'd made it clear that I was to be informed as soon as he was spotted." Clint was angry but trying to keep his voice low, as if he didn't want to disturb her. From her peephole Darcy could see him glaring at the redheaded woman, who was seated nonchalantly on a dining chair with her back to the bedroom. Darcy took the moment before the woman spoke to study this side of the man whose bed she so willingly shared. His grey eyes were burning with intensity and she shivered.

"We had a handle on it Clint, we were tracking him as he headed west. He vanished mid-Texas and went underground. You know there're too many willing to have a go at people-smuggling for us to keep surveillance on them all. You were going to be told when he surfaced again." Her voice left Darcy cold. Not again, not here… Oh god – this was life taking a massive dump on her from a great height. Just when things were starting to work out… OK Darcy, just calm down. You can deal with this…

She stepped from the darkness, spotting Valerie (reloaded, thank Clint!) on the kitchen counter. Picking it up, she swiftly levelled it at the woman, and as Clint rose from his seat with a half-uttered oath the red-headed woman twisted in her seat, giving Darcy the last bit of evidence needed to not make a complete tit of herself.

"Hello Tasha. Come to sleep with another of my boyfriends, you lying bitch?"

**OMG – plot! When did that sneak in there? :-P**


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh god, despite the fact that I was itching to get Natasha into the story, this was such a tough chapter to get on paper! Darcy, yeah. Clint, pretty easy as well. But Tash? Jeez, she was hard to write!**

**Thank you and welcome to the new people following this story – the fact that you are reading my drivel and giving positive reviews makes me both proud of my story and terrified that I might end up disappointing you all.**

**That said –on with it!**

"Well", Darcy mused as she sliced peppers, "that could have gone a whole lot worse".

She stood firm with Valerie squarely pointed at her ex-roommates head. At this distance a hit was certain and her finger was itching to pull the trigger and unleash 50,000 volts into her body. "Natasha, you have three minutes to explain to me why I shouldn't just Tase your ass back to the Dark Ages, and you'd better make it good 'cause those Disney marathons don't mean shit anymore and – honestly – I miss them. Why Tommy, when you knew you had practically every student and half the faculty panting after your knickers?"

Natasha sat very still, looking remarkably unconcerned about a menacing weapon being pointed at her by a clearly upset woman. "He wasn't who you thought he was, Darcy. I was sent in to determine his threat level and find out exactly what he was up to. You were lucky to get out when you did".

"Not good enough. Two minutes", Darcy snarled. She noticed that Clint had backed up as far as the room would allow, a mixture of shock, alarm and curiosity on his face.

The red-head took a deep breath. "I'm a SHIELD agent. My name is Natasha Romanov, not Rushman as you were told. I'm a spy and I was undercover to investigate Tommy who had been on the Agency's radar for some time. He was involved in some heavy shit, Darcy. Believe me when I say you are better off without him in your life."

Darcy looked a little mollified by that and her arm dropped very slightly – she couldn't hear deception in the older woman's voice. "And you are here, waiting in the dark like a creepy stalker why?"

"I'm meant to be on mission elsewhere, but New Mexico wasn't that far and I intercepted some intelligence which I thought was rather pertinent to my partner". Darcy's eyes narrowed again and her Taser was re-levelled at Natasha. "Not that kind of partner Darcy, I swear! Work only!"

Clint spoke suddenly, his mind operating at full speed from the moment that Valerie had put in an appearance through half-remembered mission de-briefs correlated with the timing and various cover stories. "Tommy? Tomas Sforzka? That was your deadbeat, drunk ex-boyfriend? Jesus, do you have a lucky rabbits foot or something, Darce?"

Her attention shifted, "How the fuck..?"

"Tomas, Sforzka, premier weapons smuggler on the Eastern Seaboard north of the Mason-Dixon, branched into human trafficking for prostitution eighteen months ago and picked up by SHIELD last year. Currently being held high-security prison". Natasha nodded at Clint's recall.

Her Taser hit the floor with a thud. "What? I… What?" and she was pulled into a strong hug. She was shivering (she guessed from the shock of a blow to the head followed by discovering that she'd Tased a major criminal) and Clint's hand was soothing her hair gently and how the _fuck_ had he got across the room so fast and it felt so good that it made her want to cry in the best possible way. After a few minutes of putting every ounce into fighting her own body her mind won and she was able to pull back and glare at Natasha over Clint's deliciously lickable (really Darcy? Now?) bicep.

"You, I'm still pissed with. You lied to me for months *and* slept with my boyfriend. Yes, I now know that he was a criminal as well as being a total tool, but the principle stands". She took a deep breath, "But I forgive you, because it would be awesome to have someone else who can kill people in any one of fourteen ways with a teaspoon who I can call a friend. Also, that's a way less scary prospect than declaring you my enemy." She gently extricated herself from Clint's hold and, with him hovering at her shoulder like some sort of mother-hen (she would have to Have Words with him if he kept doing that but she kinda got it in this situation) stuck out her hand, and the two women shook.

"And now the formalities are done: I'm starving what with all the fun. Tasha, you sticking for a bit?" The spy nodded at her, and Darcy headed round the counter to check the fridge.

"I'll stay if you're making fajitas, but I've got to be back in California by tomorrow, so I won't crash on the couch". She eyed the dark bruise at the junction of Clint's neck-to-shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. He didn't look the slightest bit embarrassed, maybe even a little bit proud of the mark, and she smirked. "Not that I'd get much sleep. Darcy's a screamer" and she delicately ducked the wooden spoon which arched past her ear.

And so that was how Darcy came to be cooking up fajitas for a couple of master-assassin/super-spies on her weekend off whilst they sat and watched some awful made-for-TV film on the SciFi channel and chatting about nothing in particular. She looked over at them, at Clint who she knows is watching her back from the corner of his eye and she picks up this…vibe. She can't explain it, but she knows that she needs to get Tasha alone because she was so good at reading any situation Darcy was in whilst they were roommates. "Clint, could you run out and grab me an avocado? I need one for the guacamole, along with some chilli flakes. If they don't have flakes, a small fresh red one? And not one of those monstrosities that puts you in the ER if you eat it raw". He looked from her to his partner and back with a worried look on his face, a crease between his eyes that she just wished she could kiss away. "Don't worry about me and Tasha – she won't kill me until *after* dinner".

The red-head unfolded herself from the couch. "It's true. I wouldn't want to jeopardise Darcy's fajitas – best I've ever had". She nodded to the younger woman with a wink, who grinned back. "Besides, we need to talk about *you*…"

Clint opened his mouth to protest further but when he received almost identical looks from both women, shut it again with a snap and slunk out of the apartment without another word. He knew when he was beaten.

Natasha swung herself up to perch easily on the counter-top and watched Darcy slice chicken breast into strips. "So, you and Clint huh? He's a good man to be with".

She paused in her food preparation. "Did you two ever...?" and the other held up her hand.

"For a very short time a while ago. It didn't work out and started to affect our work, so we decided that we were better staying as partners. He's my best friend, Darcy. Please don't break him, I don't think he could survive that again". At the younger woman's quizzical look, she shook her head. "Not my history to tell - ask him if you must know, but it happened well before he and I became the brief item that was destined to fail".

Darcy worked in contemplative silence, dicing a few ripe tomatoes into salsa. "Thank you, Tash. For Tommy now that I know how much danger I was in, and for – well, everything. I have missed you, even when I was pissed off with you. I still watch Doctor Who."

"Dear god, don't tell Clint I'm addicted to that – I'd never live it down! It's hard enough keeping him quiet over comms as it is without him permanently telling me that bowties are cool." Darcy sniggered and made a zip-the-lip motion as she stored that little bit of information right next to Clint's Taser-ing in her Blackmail Bank.

They looked at the door when a light tread was heard on the stairs outside, followed by the jingle of keys. Natasha quickly turned to Darcy and said in a low voice "I didn't see you this happy with Tomas, and I've never seen Clint this relaxed around anyone. Think about it." The younger woman's jaw dropped slightly, but managed to recover as the super-sexy-sniper cautiously stuck his head around the door.

"Is it safe to come in, or will I be in a room full of hostiles? I need to know now whether I should be saying a fond farewell to my manhood". He flashed his cocky grin, and Darcy felt her knees give out. She gripped the edge of the worktop and locked every joint below the hips in an effort not to turn into a dribbling pile of goo at the sight of him.

Natasha took in the slight flush on Darcy's cheeks, the pulse beating hard and fast in her neck and the wide-open dilation of her pupils in a split-second before turning with a knowing smile. "Only friendlies here, Agent. It's safe to proceed with your mission" and Clint sauntered in with a small shopping bag, kicking the door shut and swinging his purchases onto the worktop beside his partner, who busied herself by starting on the guacamole. He spun Darcy on the spot and pulled her, rather dazedly, into a protective embrace. He brushed his lips over the top of her head with a light kiss, one hand on her hip and the other on the back of her neck.

"Missed you" he murmured as a barely audible growl into her hair, and with those two words she knew she was lost.


	11. Chapter 11

Darcy was both grateful and sad that Tasha didn't stay longer. She ate - ate? More like inhaled - her portion of the fajitas within a few minutes whilst Clint looked cautiously at the chicken/pepper/onion mix (which had been cooked in a secret blend of spices – the Colonel had nothing on her) before Darcy rolled her eyes at him. "Dude, just because I can only afford crap on Jane's meagre food budget doesn't mean I can't cook. Just eat already before this", she waved the hand not currently holding a half-filled tortilla over her chest," becomes off-limits". The man looked chastised as he took a healthy bite and his eyebrows shot up in surprise and appreciation. Natasha and Darcy shared identical chuckles as he picked up speed until his plate was also empty and he was eyeing up the food left in front of her. Darcy snaked a protective arm around it, brandishing a fork in his direction. "Don't even think about it buddy. Go talk whilst I finish and clear this lot up. I'll listen to my iPod so I don't know which regime is about to fall – I can learn about that in Poli-Sci like the rest of the normal people". Tasha threw her backpack to her as she made her way to the couch and – glory of glories – there was the beloved music player in the side pocket. She plugged in, cranked the volume and ignored the two secret agents muttering behind her.

Natasha sat on the couch whilst Clint perched his butt on the edge of the low table before her, keeping one eye on the crazy-beautiful woman now tapping her foot to the music which only she could hear. Nat kicked him gently on the shin. "Do I have to tell you that if you break her heart, you'd better hope that I don't find you? I've known this girl get through some rough shit with a smile on her face, so she doesn't deserve to get her heart broken. Plus, a good partner is so hard to find."

Clint looked both anxious and outraged "I wouldn't Nat. Not Darcy, she's different…" Natasha snorted.

"Darcy's different alright." She looked over her shoulder at the brunette, now jigging a little dance as she scraped the plates into the waste disposal. She turned back to Clint with a fond smile, only to find him also focussing on the young woman, on the gently sinuous sway of her back. He knew she was mouthing along to the lyrics and his mind was catapulted back to the freezing desert sands with only a sniper scope for company. From a hundred miles away Natasha cleared her throat, and he was back in the room with glazed vision and 90% of his blood supply heading south. His partner quirked an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged.

"No, I can tell that you haven't set out to hurt her". She leaned forwards and cupped his cheek with her slim fingers, drawing his eyes to her own. Green met grey and she read everything he felt for Darcy in the single, held look. She sat back again. "Admit it to yourself and – if you're lucky – she may just tell you what you want to hear. Darcy won't use you, or hold your feelings for her hostage". Clint's eyes were steel now, but Natasha pressed on, poking at the wounds of the old wolf. "She's honest in every way. And although love is for children, I don't want either of you to grow up".

Clint's mouth was hanging open now, and he stared at the Russian. She tapped him on the chin and he closed his jaw with a snap before he could start his best goldfish impression.

"Clint, are you OK?" He looked at Darcy again, who was watching him. She talked slightly too loudly, music playing only for her so he nodded. Natasha smirked at him and so he glared at his partner. "Well, in that case I'm all done here. Tasha, it's been lovely to see you again and I'd really love to chat again with you, but right now I have road dust in places I'd really prefer it wasn't." She plucked the buds from her ears and dropped her iPod onto the end of the kitchen counter as she walked over. She kissed Natasha on the cheek before repeating the gesture on Clint. Her fingertips curled around the back of his neck and scratched gently, running through the short hair and making his mind go numb. He felt muscles which he'd not realised were even tense start to relax, and realised that if Darcy kept doing that to his neck he would probably start to purr like an overgrown (and now horny) tomcat.

Natasha succeeded in not laughing as he watched Darcy head out of the living area; the bathroom door opened and closed again a few minutes later. He tried to concentrate on what his partner was saying, he really did (something about the guy she was ordered to keep an eye on being a total chauvinistic asshole) but his attention kept wandering. Eventually, the red-head gave up and prepared to leave. "I can tell when I'm not wanted, although at least I've given her enough time to actually wash. Just pass her my mobile number, and I mean my real one, when you're less distracted. And Clint", she pulled his face to hers, "I'll say it again – hurt her and it's me you'll have to answer to." She patted his cheek and walked out of the apartment without a backward glance. He locked the door behind her and leant against it. Processing and dealing with her news, and the various revelations of the evening, could wait. Tonight, he'd planned for fun…

On tiptoe, he crept past the bathroom door and into the bedroom, where he quickly stripped from his dusty clothing, balling it and the items which Darcy had left strewn on the floor neatly into a pile in the corner. He was briefly distracted when he came across the scrap of lace that was her panties, and was sorely tempted to hide it – complete with their combined smell in the seat – in his kit, but he quickly shook himself out of that creepy and totally-stalkerish idea and threw them onto the washing pile as well. His light tread was silent as he went back to the bathroom door and tried the handle; it turned easily, so he quickly and silently slipped into the steamed room.

Darcy had her back to the door, he head tipped up under the stream of hot water. Her normally tumble-curled tresses were plastered flat to her back, the shiny strands black with water in perfect contrast to the paleness of her skin. The taper of her ribs to her waist drew his eye down to the flair of her hips and the perfect swell of her arse. He leaned back against the door and watched her shower. Even when she believed herself alone, Darcy had a sensuous grace which Clint found captivating – he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She ran her hands over the top of her hair, smoothing it to her scalp before placing both hands on the wall in front of her and hanging her head beneath the deluge.

He couldn't resist any longer. Her pose was so open and unguarded, begging him to take her – and he could barely restrain the growl which demanded to rumble deep in his chest. Faster than thought, he stepped into the tub and pressed himself against her, one arm sliding across her stomach and pulling her against him. Her squeak of surprise swiftly changed to a moaned "Oh god, Clint" when he bent his head, set his teeth to her neck and sucked up a bruise to match the one which she had gifted him with earlier that afternoon.

One of her hands was pressed hard against the tiles to steady herself and the other was once more gripping the clipped hair at the back of his neck, scratching at the base of his skull. He ran a light finger down her tricep and circled it beneath her breast, running it gently up and around her nipple before flicking across it. She gasped lightly and pushed back her hips so that his cock, rock-hard and weeping pre-come, was nestled snugly between her buttocks. Fully cupping her breast (or as much of it as he could – she really was magnificent) with one hand, we slid his other back across her stomach to circle her navel before drifting lower over her smoothly waxed skin to tease at her slit. Her moan as his callused finger split her folds and drifted across her clit was delicious, and he was desperate to hear his name on her lips again.

As his fingers slid further, their passage aided by the water cascading upon them both, she whined and shifted her weight, lifting her right leg to rest her foot on the edge of the bath, opening herself up for him. She still clung to his head and held him to her neck as his hands drew small cries from her throat. He set his lips against her pulse point and hummed, murmuring nonsense into her skin. Her head fell back and he dipped his shoulder so that it rested comfortably against him.

Darcy simply didn't know which sensation to focus on – the vibration at her neck, the hand teasing her breast or the fingers which were currently alternating between gently strumming her clit like a fine guitar and roughly pushing into and out of her flexing cunt. Any of them individually were fantastic, but when the man behind her – strong, solid and so god-damned sexy he should have a health warning tattooed on his butt – was doing them all _at the same time_ it was no wonder that she was going insane. Her heart was racing, her body lunging for release and when Clint bit down on skin so recently and lovingly abused she screamed his name like a prayer. Her back arched, thrusting her hips back against his (making him grunt softly in her ear) as she quivered and pulsed in his arms, barely able to breathe.

He held her through the aftershocks – as well as teasing more of them from her body, until she begged him to stop – and delicately kissed where he had bruised and bitten her. She drew a shaky breath, "Fuck, Clint. Just…Fuck. Wow. I think I just heard the Hallelujah Chorus". She turned in his arms, wrapped her own around his neck and pulled him down into a slow kiss. His tongue slipped between her pillow-soft lips to tangle with her own, and just as their kiss became less leisurely and more demanding, the hot water ran out.

Laughing at her very undignified squeal, Clint reached past Darcy's shoulder and turned the shower off before they each carefully stepped from the slippery tub, Clint holding her arm to ensure that she didn't slip. He wrapped her in a towel and rubbed her vigorously to warm her up (nothing to do with the delightful way that it made her breasts jiggle) as she had taken the brunt of the freezing deluge. He pulled her into a hug and she pressed harder against his chest, kissing the purple bruise at the junction of his neck whilst freeing her hand from the confines of the towel. He took a laboured breath when she ran a light grip up the length of his cock, resting his head on hers as he panted slightly. "Dammit Darce, if you're going to do…Jesus… such things I should at least… oh _God_… be sitting down". A quick squeeze right at the base made his balls tighten and wrung a desperate, needy whine from his throat.

Now it was Darcy's turn to chuckle as she pulled back slowly, dragging her hand up to the very tip before grabbing the towel from her body and turning away. Clint made a grab for her, but she twisted and he was left with a handful of air before she flung the wet towel into his face. When he cleared his vision, the bathroom door was open and the woman was gone.

He groaned. "You're a fucking tease, Darcy Lewis."


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter – even though I had the idea for ages, it took what felt like an age to get it written down in a way that even made the vaguest bit of sense, and I still felt as if it was a little forced.**

**Anyway, this chapter is more smut (because who doesn't want more of that?) and no plot, but I promise that'll happen soon enough **

**More love helps me write, so if you like my scribbling then please say so. I don't reply to reviews very often, but they are ALL appreciated!**

Clint woke slowly with Darcy snuggled into his arms, her back to his chest in the most insistent little-spoon pose he'd ever witnessed, and so he honoured her unconscious request and wrapped himself around her. The sigh of contentment she released made his heart flip-flop and he pulled her tighter against him, making him realise that even after a night like theirs, he was still capable of morning glory.

_He stalked her to the bedroom where she was turning down the bed, leant over the mattress and watching him over her shoulder with a grin. The challenge was unmistakable, a condom foil already in her hand which she threw to him (he snatched it one-handed from the air, which he was rather smug about) before fluffing the pillows. She saucily waggled her rear at him and he had to take a deep breath and concentrate extra hard at making sure he was ready for her, resisting her incredibly appealing distraction technique. When the pillows were beaten to her satisfaction she slipped past him to close the bedroom door behind him, trailing her hand across his chest and down his arm as she did so. A muscle strand in his bicep jumped and twitched at her touch and he had to fight himself to stay still and wait for her move._

He brushed the tangled hair from her face and propped himself up on his elbow so that he could look upon her. The flush she had worn as they passed out was long faded, leaving her skin its normal colour of spilt cream. She was relaxed in sleep, with a faint smile. The violent bruises he'd sucked onto her neck stood out in stark contrast to, well, everything about her at this moment. He thought she looked perfect.

_He was able to hold himself still whilst Darcy circled him, his eyes half-closed and straight ahead. She traced the muscles of his arms, ran delicately over the scars on his back (various missions gone south) and shoulder (the circus). Her touch went lower, drifting over his arse and tracing a jagged welt on his left buttock (London. Damned pointy-top fences). Running down the outside of his thigh he heard an intake of breath when she came across a knot of scar tissue. A bullet in Budapest – he'd had it put on his file that he was never to go back there after he'd nearly bled out over Natasha. It may have been the catalyst which started off their fuck-buddy relationship but it didn't mean that he had to enjoy the memory of that mission. Darcy had dropped to her knees for a closer look and now planted a gentle kiss on the sensitive patch of gnarly skin. His gaze dropped from parade-ground rigidity to stare at her. His control wavered at the sight of the woman, on her knees with lust and sincerity in her deep blue eyes._

A callused hand ran lightly over smooth skin and there was a slight grumble from the back of Darcy's throat in response. Clint returned to the enveloping hug and she settled again. He wanted to keep her there – relaxed and protected in his arms – for as long as possible.

_When Clint snapped it took Darcy by surprise – one moment she was kneeling before him and the next he had her pressed against the wall and his tongue was sliding into her mouth. Her moan was answered by a deep growl which turned her knees to jelly and her brain to cheese. She melted into his embrace – feminism be damned but she wanted him to have his wicked way with her body. His chest was as unyielding against hers as the wall was at her back. He lifted her into his arms (those arms…fucking hell) and then higher until her legs wrapped around his waist. "Fuck, Darcy. You're a tease. You get a guy all riled up and then run away and that's just not playing nice. Well, I don't always play nice either. When I'm done with you, you'll barely be able to walk let alone run". The only reply she could even consider articulating was a groaned "Fuck yeah" before he pressed his hips forward and slid smoothly into her._

His cock was getting harder as he relived the previous night, and Clint had to shift uncomfortably so that he didn't poke and wake the young woman. He thanked all the gods (if they existed), coincidence or the blind dumb luck which resulted in their lives crossing as and when they did. He couldn't imagine life without her, even though they had met only a week or so before. Jeez, they'd moved fast, and yet it felt right to do so. He'd not even been this quick with Her. He gave a grimace and pushed that memory aside before it could spoil his morning.

_Her wet hair was dripping down her back, leaving a damp patch on the wall. Clint was leaning into her and giving a rasping little grunt as he bottomed out with each thrust, forcing puffs of breath from her lungs as he did so. All she could do was hold on to his shoulders as he drove into her, hard and fast and unforgiving, demanding everything she had and then some more. She could barely breathe, her brain had flat-lined and *fuck me* he was getting faster and she simply couldn't hang on any longer. Her orgasm was intense, her fingernails biting into skin and muscle._

Darcy slowly swam towards wakefulness, dully aware of the heat from another body wrapped around hers. Her ascent was gentle and undeniable even though she wished to stay under – she was so comfortable and happy where she was that she wanted to stay there forever. She snuggled back against the rock hard chest behind her and she was rewarded with a slight tightening of his arms and a reverent, barely-there kiss on her shoulder. There was an unmistakeable hardness pressing into her lower back, and she smirked slightly.

_The localised pain from her fingernails only spurred Clint on. Darcy was his – he was staking his claim on her body but he knew that if he kept up this pace then it would be over far too soon and so, after one particularly hard thrust he suddenly withdrew, causing her to whine loudly at the loss. He grabbed her by the hair, twisting his fingers into the dripping tresses and pulling her head back, baring her throat to him. He nuzzled and licked at the soft skin, nipping gently until he felt calm enough to carry on and she was mewling with need. He unwound her legs from his waist, where she had been blindly flexing her hips into his, and practically dropped her on the floor. "Bed. Hands and knees. Now. I'm not done with you yet." Oh god, her favourite. He guided her to the position of his liking by his grip on her head. Maybe she should have protested the rough treatment but right now she was simply too turned on by it to care, and when he pushed her forwards she moaned and couldn't stop herself from thrusting her arse towards him. He gently slapped her on the rump as he climbed onto the bed behind her, settling himself between her spread knees._

She ached in places she'd forgotten she had and she smiled as she opened her eyes. Clint was leaning over her and his grin was blindingly happy, causing her heart to lurch before thumping harder. Her voice was sleep-rough when she said "Good morning" and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand, stretching like a cat against him. And if she pressed against his raging erection…well, that was just a beneficial accident, wasn't it? It totally had nothing to do with Clint's sharp huff of exhaled air.

_She was the one grunting with each thrust now as he drove himself so very deeply into her. He was holding her hips hard enough to leave bruises on top of those already taken the previous evening, and then one of his hands slipped around her hipbone and reached beneath her, between her legs. She shivered, crying out as he stroked over her clit and in response he thrust unbelievably deeper into her willing cunt. Clint leant forwards, covering her with his body and the angle change hit all the right spots to make her see stars. His other hand left her hip to support his weight, his arm right by her shoulder so she turned her head and nuzzled against it. He shuddered and thrust faster, pounding into her until – neither of them able to draw breath properly – they climaxed almost simultaneously. Clint panted silently through his release, whilst cussing which would have made a sailor blush flooded from Darcy. He collapsed next to her and she cuddled against his body heat with sleepy eyes. "Don't get too comfortable sweetheart," he rumbled, "I haven't finished with you yet. Just… Give me a minute." Darcy caught his eye, and they both burst out laughing. He went to clean up (from this round) still sniggering._

When Clint asked if she fancied some breakfast, she shook her head and held his arm firmly around her in a clear indication that he was to damn well stay where he was; he was more than happy to comply with her demands. Their conversation was light – Darcy described what an arsehole Thor was when he first landed, her family life and what her parents had said when she told them she was postponing her studies to chase atmospheric phenomena on the other side of the country. Clint mostly listened, though he did promise her an archery lesson. His stomach rumbling dragged them back into the real world, and he quixotically let Darcy use the facilities first. Of course, the chance to watch her putter around his bedroom whilst buck-ass nude was an added benefit.

Whilst she was gone, he lay back and stared through the ceiling as he allowed himself to think. Nat was right – if he could admit his feelings to himself then She would be well behind him, never to be a dark shadow over his life again. Darcy was Her complete antithesis and, yeah he'd done some bad things in his life, but surely he'd suffered enough to earn a relationship with such an amazing person now, right? But…could he open himself up to the possibility of soul-destroying hurt again? Could he actually say it? And would she say it back? He was fifteen years older than her - would that stand in the way?

His thoughts were derailed by a pair of sweatpants to the face. "Get yourself in that bathroom and if you're lucky breakfast might be more than a bowl of Lucky Charms" he was told, so he threw back the covers and pulled on the sweats before heading for the bathroom. An exaggerated sigh of appreciation as Darcy turned to watch him go by made him grin and roll his eyes.

He looked back over his shoulder. "Later sweetheart. I need food first", and vanished into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

**So close to 100 reviews… Gimme the love and see if we can break the tonne!**

At 8.30am on Monday morning, Darcy put her plate in the sink (he'd made scrambled eggs and bacon on toast whilst she was in the shower – dude was a keeper) and grabbed her jacket and backpack. After a goodbye kiss, which had the very really danger of convincing her to stay had she not pulled away with a groan, and a promise to text when they broke for lunch, she headed out. Working might suck when compared to watching Clint make sandwiches when only wearing sweatpants but she really, really needed to talk to Jane. Darcy had never felt this strongly about any of her ex-boyfriends and she was rather worried what it might mean. Hopefully a conversation over coffee with the older woman (who was likely as not in the same position as her only without having had her world utterly rocked by the god of her dreams) would help her to sort her head out.

She popped in her earbuds and cranked the volume, pulling her jacket tighter against the chilly desert breeze. Her pace slowed as she passed a mostly intact shop window and she paused to stare at her reflection. Pale skin, dark hair and big blue eyes. Lips which most men seemed to find fascinating, but she could never work out why. Big rack. Yeah, she knew why most men found that attractive, but so far Clint had been the only one who actually knew what to _do_ with it. Seriously, what did a guy like Clint – well-travelled, experienced and partnered with _Tasha_ for fuck's sake – saw in her. With his rugged good looks and those absolutely divine arms he could probably have any woman he wanted. Darcy liked to think that she wasn't a fool, but other than a willing bed-partner she couldn't understand his desire. He'd lain in the cold sand and watched her jack off before she even knew he was alive, he'd been so cool about being Tasered and then, after she'd nearly electrocuted him, he'd asked her out on a date. She felt under a spell – she simply couldn't resist him, and wasn't sure whether she even wanted to…

She shook herself free from her own thoughts as her heart beat harder in her chest and her stomach tied itself in knots. Walking through the town, she watched life starting to return to normal again. Shops were being re-glazed, insurance companies had sent out loss adjusters and the people she passed were looking less traumatised. Her pace increased in response to the music pumping into her ears and in next to no time she'd made it to work. The place looked deserted and Darcy rolled her eyes – Jane had no doubt worked through the night and then crashed out in her trailer because she'd forgotten to eat properly (if at all). Darcy bounced up to the doors and unlocked, picking up a brown envelope which had been posted through the gap. She dropped it on her desk with her iPod and backpack, wandering to the kitchen to put on the coffee machine and break out some PopTarts for her boss. When Mr Coffee had done his magic, she poured herself a mug and went to open the mail.

Thirty seconds later she ran out the door.

xxx

Clint spent the morning alternating between tidying the apartment and reminiscing over the weekend. Sunday had been spent on the couch watching either cartoons or the Spike channel (he was delighted to discover that she loved programs about battle tactics and historical Special Force Ops), indulging in both comfort foods and each other's bodies. The memory of Darcy on her knees whilst he lounged back into the cushions, their gazes locked and his cock so deep in her perfect mouth that he nudged the back of her throat made him press the heel of his hand to his groin and lean against the kitchen counter. Jesus, she was so far under his skin… He had to concentrate on something else, even though his balls were starting to ache. So he did the washing up.

No text arrived at lunchtime, so at 2.30pm he headed round to make sure that everyone stopped to eat. Jane and Dr Selvig met him at the door, worry on the face of the woman and anger radiating from the older scientist. His lightning fast reactions saved him from a slapped face, and he released Dr Foster's wrist when she shrieked at him "What the hell have you done with my assistant, you jerk?"

Clint was alarmed – Darcy wasn't here? "She left to get here for 9", and he pushed past the two of them, going straight to Darcy's workstation. He noted the iPod and backpack and knew that she had made it here at least. Jane and Dr Selvig followed him. "Start from this morning and tell me everything, and whilst you're doing that you are going to tell me if there is anything out of the ordinary with Darcy's spot. New, different or missing." He was trying very hard not to panic.

Jane's anger was replaced with fear. "I worked late yesterday so I overslept a little. When I got in the coffee was hot, the PopTarts were cold and the doors were unlocked when I know for a fact that I locked them last night. I didn't used to worry about that so much, but after your lot came and took…" she took a deep breath, realising that ranting at him wasn't going to help, "I tried to call her, and have continued to do so all morning, but it just rigs and goes to voicemail". She scanned the desk in front of her. "It's always a bit chaotic here, but I don't think…hang on. That's new…" and she plucked a plain brown envelope from where it was discarded on the stool. Reaching in, she pulled out a sheaf of papers and with one glance turned bright red before thrusting them into his hands and backing away. "Please tell me Darcy's going to be OK". The blood drained from Clint's face as he looked at the envelopes contents.

They were photographs of him and Darcy, taken during their picnic date on Saturday. They were captured eating, laughing, there he was in his handstand. Sleeping, wrapped around each other. Naked, Darcy sitting on his lap with her head thrown back, his hands gripping her thighs, strain evident on his face… He cleared his throat and shuffled that one to the bottom of the stack before sliding them back inside the envelope and tucking the entire package into his jacket's inside pocket. He pulled out his phone and tapped her number. It rang twice before connecting.

"Darcy Lewis' phone. She's a little tied up at the moment, but I can take a message". Clint went cold at the voice, all too familiar despite the number of years since he had heard it last. "Unless that really is you, Clint, in which case I would like to express my appreciation of your taste in toys, baby brother."


	14. Chapter 14

Darcy hurt. Really hurt. None of that dull "too much exercise without cooling down properly" shitty little owchy – this was stabbing, blinding agony which didn't even have the decency to come over her in waves. Oh no, no respite for her. Screaming had run her throat raw, at least one rib grated whenever she breathed in and she was pretty sure that she had a black eye developing after her kidnappers last little visit. Apparently the whole 'show them no fear' routine oonly worked on children and animals, not sadistic bastards who liked to gloat about how they were going to ruin your new boyfriend's life whilst they did a number on your kidneys.

She hadn't the energy to do more than lie on the lumpy old mattress in her little locked room and pray. By her reckoning (which was suspect without access to her phone or natural light) it had been about a week since she'd been snatched. Her kidnapper – some older dude with nasty scarring – wouldn't even empty the rusty bucket in her room regularly, and her cell stank. She couldn't see very far because her glasses had been knocked from her face when he'd dragged her, struggling, into his waiting van. A rough sacking bag which smelt of flour and mould had been shoved over her head and her hands zip-stripped behind her. She'd kicked and sworn, screamed and fought until the sting of a needle had brought first brain fuzzies and then darkness. She'd woken in this tiny room, so who knew where they were.

She curled up as well as she was able, pulled her ratty blanket up and gently sang herself a nursery rhyme until she was able to drop into a light doze.

Xxx

Clint had called Natasha as soon as his brother had terminated the phone call. She'd almost begged him to call in favours with the suits; he'd followed her advice and been rather surprised when Coulson had dropped everything and arrived on the scene only a few hours later, bringing more tech guys and a helicopter with him. Clint had tried to set up a trace on Darcy's phone signal, but he wasn't the technologically proficient type and was grateful when one of the SHIELD geeks had taken over. Unfortunately, Barney had hit the power button once they'd finished speaking because the trace programme drew a blank on an exact location. However, SHIELD had more than one trick up their sleeve and they were able to narrow it down to last being used in a warehouse district of LA, near to the Port.

The problem was that it had been almost a week since Darcy had been taken from him, and other than a general approximation they weren't really any closer to finding her. Whenever Barney called to gloat – which he did roughly every 36 hours or so – he used public call boxes located citywide so that they couldn't get a pinpoint. Once he rang from a residential number, but by the time a local operative had been scrambled to check it out, the owners had already called 911 to report a burglary, so that was a blank too.

Coulson had dragged him into his makeshift office on the second day (the Agency had somewhat taken over the old car showroom after Jane had informed him that she would discontinue her research if she was left out of the loop and Coulson believed her) and pulled him over the coals – thankfully only metaphorically – until Clint had admitted the nature of his relationship with the young woman. His boss had not been best pleased, but accepted it with his usual stoic nature and a warning that he wasn't to let it affect his work. As Coulson had been his main source of support in the immediate aftermath of Her, Clint and bowed his head meekly and mumbled that it wouldn't. He was released back to hovering over the computers and making the cyberjockys nervous. Oh his way past Coulson, the Agent had gripped his shoulder and given it a supportive squeeze. Clint had given a grateful nod, and the they moved on.

Xxx

Darcy was roughly dragged from the nest that she had attempted to fashion for herself with only the one, thin blanket and marched to the back of the van again. She squinted up at her scarred kidnapper in the new light of day – in this light and from her angle he looked just like an older, more battered version of Clint. She decided against taking comfort from this, and this man had never shown her any kindness. However, whilst giving him the side-eye she did spot her phone poking a corner from his trouser pocket. With one eye now swollen shut and the other all fuzzy around the edges of her vision, she contemplated the odds of trying to pickpocket him. Mentally shrugging to herself, she took the risk and deliberately fell against him as he hauled her up and into the van. Slipping her hand into his pocket, she relieved him of her prized possession, which she hurriedly palmed and shoved down the front of her trousers. He threw her into the far corner, making her scream as her ribs slammed into the floor, before jumping nimbly down and slamming the doors behind him. As soon as the engine started and the van moved off, she pulled her phone back out and turned it on. Clint's number was the last missed call, so she hit the button to call him back.

Xxx

His phone rang just as the trace-and-track monitor started to ping and flash. The guy sat at the desk tapped a few buttons and nodded to Clint, who slowly answered and put the phone on speaker, "Hello?" There were sounds of traffic and breathing. He could hear the telltale hitch which spoke of broken ribs, a rasp which indicated a bruised throat, Could he dare to hope..?

When she heard his voice, her throat closed with tears and she struggled to draw breath. She gave a slight sob before clearing her throat – swallowing around the pained rawness – and managed a broken whisper of "Clint? Help me." She sounded weak and faint (which she hated) and she had to brace herself suddenly against the side of the van as it went too fast around a corner. She heard the blaring of a carhorn, so maybe they had even run a red light. She checked her battery. Only two bars left.

The voice of Agent Coulson came over the line, " Miss Lewis, we're sending help. Can you tell us anything which could help us? Can you see anything?" She tried to concentrate on the calm voice of the older man, tried to think whilst swallowing nausea.

"I'm in the back of a white van. I don't know where I am, but it's hot here," her head swam as she was lurched sideways suddenly, "and he's driving too fast. Where's Clint?"

"Agent Barton is on his way to your location, Miss Lewis. I know that this will be difficult for you, but I must ask you to hang up the phone. We can trace your signal as long as it is switched on, but our machines here tell me that you don not have a lot of battery left." Darcy gave a whine of protest. "Rest assured, Miss Lewis, you will _not_ be alone – we will be tracking you every step of the way and Agent Barton will be with you as soon as humanly possible."

"Tell Jane," she cleared her throat and tried again, "Tell Jane to start making the margaritas, because I'm gonna need a _lot_." Darcy felt her throat thicken again, and with a whispered "See you soon" she rang off. Unzipping her boot, she tucked her phone into it so that it rested on top of her foot. She figured she probably wouldn't be searched there, and if she ended up walking funny then the bastard could just blame his driving. She re-zipped and braced herself into the corner, one hand wrapped around her ribs to ease the rattle in her breathing and felt tears run down her cheeks even as she grinned into the darkness. This dude had _no_ idea…

Xxx

Clint had changed into his tactical gear in the helicopter, which was beating through the air at high speed. It had been ready to scramble at a moments notice from 20 minutes after its arrival, so his weapons were already aboard. He had to admit – he felt better with the secured weight of the quiver on his back.

They were already nearing LA (Agent Coulson was keeping him appraised of Darcy's position, and she was evidently stuck in the Monday morning rush hour traffic. Barney really wasn't the brightest crayon in the colouring set) and he would have to go on foot. He leapt from the 'copter before it had even landed at one of the less private helipads, and practically threw himself down the stairs.

Xxx

Eventually, the engine stopped and a few minutes passed before the doors of the van were opened. Behind her kidnapper Darcy could see an alley, lined with large dumpsters painted with what looked like restaurant names. She could see the entrance to the alleyway, so she assumed that it was unlikely he would kill her here – too much potential for an unwitting witness. He gestured for her to get out of the van, and the uglier-than-normal look on his face told her it would be far better to submit than to snark. He grabbed her arm and tucked her into his body. She tried to recoil from him, but felt a sharp pricking in her side. "Do something stupid and I'll gut you like a fish," he snarled into her face. She turned her head away and tried to look meek rather than disgusted at his foul breath. She really could not afford to give him any excuse to hurt her further, especially now that she knew help was on its way.

He half-dragged, half-guided her through thickening crowds. Darcy's arm was starting to go numb from the vice-like grip he kept on her, pulling her back onto the knife point in her lower side each time his stride swayed her away. Her ribs were agony and she kept her head down to hide her face and the swelling which still forced one eye closed. He pulled her along a beach front, past groups of tourists and lithe, tanned bodies and she realised where they were – LA. Yanked onto a boardwalk and into a thick crowd of people heading out over the sea, she deduced that he was making his stand on the Santa Monica Pier. Smart – too crowded for Clint to take a long-range shot without the danger of hitting an innocent bystander. However, Darcy mused as she was pulled along, her kidnapper's flair for the dramatic was getting in the way of good tactics, because making his way to the very end of the pier drastically cut down on his avenues of escape.

He pushed her against the safety railing with her back to the expanse of the Pacific Ocean, and she had to stifle a scream as he slammed into the top bar. Her head swam and she tried not to slump to the ground. "Now to call your lover-boy and do a deal. You'd better hope that he gives me…everything…I…" the cruel voice trailed off as he fished into each and every pocket, a growing look of alarm on his face.

"If you're looking for her phone to call, Barnety, you're a little late. How about you and I have a chat? Face to face. Real friendly-like and without involving the girl." Darcy almost wept at the sound of Clint's voice. Her kidnapper – Barney, she supposed – cursed and pulled her against him once more. The point of his blade slid into her, though thankfully by less than half an inch. And there Clint was, barely eight feet from them, his bow held loosely at his side.

Clint saw the blood drain from Darcy's face and felt an ice-cold rage sweep through him. She was someone who was so special – and not just to him – that she should be kept safe and sound, allowed to simply be herself with no-one interfering. And here was Barney, hurting and scaring her, destroying her from the inside just like he used to the girls do back in the carnival. Clint felf sick for the hero-worship of his youth, for the gnawing guilt he had felt for years after betraying his older brother and _doing the right thing_. An arrow was nocked and faster than thought he drew and released – his brothers shoulder suddenly sprouted the shaft and he let go of Darcy with a cry, staggering sideways and clutching at the shocking injury.

Barney's red-rimmed and enraged eyes met the grey-blue ones of his younger brother just as he snarled This isn't over, baby brother. I _will_ destroy you for what you did to me" and he vaulted the railing, disappearing from view. Darcy's knees had barely hit the weatherbeaten deck before Clint was there with her, pulling the dropping knife from her side and pressing the wound to staunch the bleeding. It was neither deep nor dangerous but would most likely need a stitch or two to hold it whist she healed. He scooped her into his arms (though she hissed when he held her ribcage so he immediately changed his grip) and started to carry her back to land.

Darcy felt his arms around her and, for the first time in a week, allowed herself to fall into a deep sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

_Grey. Everything was the colour of freezing fog – oppressive, unfocussed and disconcerting. He knew this dream well, knew what to expect and what it meant. The silhouette of a man in a top hat was always first, slightly further away each time this nightmare came to haunt his nights. The Ringmaster was barely visible through the haze now, and no longer evoked the terror which he had felt for many years. Those once scheming eyes and long since faded to nothing more than a slight glimmer._

_Next, as still as the cold grave in which the spirits body now lay, was The Swordsman. His eyes burned through Clint with red hot hatred, accusing him for his betrayal. As he did each and every time, he deliberately turned his back to the spectre, to the man who had taken him in._

_Then there was a young boy – one he knew only too well. But the part of him which had been trained by Trick Shot did not accuse him anymore. Rather, the shade's expression was both proud and joyful. It came forwards and gave him a friendly punch on the bicep before moving past to disappear into the mist. Clint had the feeling that he wouldn't dream of his younger self in this place again, and was unsure whether to be melancholic._

_The next two figures stood side-by-side and he felt dread wash through his chest – for some reason they were always linked in his mind. Maybe it was because he could escape neither of them. Barney was clearer and closer than he had been for a long time - but that was understandable – his scarred face curled into a feral snarl. His right hand was twisted into a claw and dripping a viscous red liquid. He knew it was Darcy's blood on his brother's hand and it enraged him that once again his brother had evaded capture. And yet, even though he could not bear the countenance of his own flesh and blood, he was afraid to move on. The progression of his nightmare denied his wish, and he beheld Her._

_Petite. Blonde. As beautiful as a stiletto blade and as cruel as a whip. Her face was schooled into the patronising tolerance he had grown to abhor, which she had worn each and every time he practiced his bow or brought home takeout instead of cooking dinner. Words sharper than razors fluttered around her like crows – useless, stupid, failure – before they swooped and cut him to the bone. She smiled sweetly whilst he lay bleeding at her feet, and he saw once again the elongated canines of her upper jaw with which she drained his life and confidence._

_He knew what would come next. He would wake, coated in sweat and shivering with stress and fear, and wouldn't sleep again until the sun rose. So he didn't understand when a golden glow chased away the fog; the figures who awaited him in the cold mist were shredded and the biting, slashing black words were torn apart as they blew away with a heart-chilling screech._

_He looked now upon the New Mexico desert. Gold daylight seeped its warmth into his bones and stopped the bleeding from his wounds, and a smile spread over his face when a comforting weight landed on the back of his neck. His body was suddenly too heavy to turn around, his brain fuzzy and sluggish but with just enough presence to mumble a response to an ethereal whisper of "Clint? You wanna wake up now?"_

He raised his head from where it rested on his forearms, leaning forwards against Darcy's hospital bed; his body had finally given in after not sleeping for the past seven days once the doctor had checked, stitched and bound the unconscious girls' wounds. The medics had decided to keep her in overnight, hooked up to a couple of solution drips to rehydrate and re-nourish her battered body. The heart monitor had beeped with a soothing regularity and Clint had been grateful they'd not utilised any more machines (he'd been forced into Medical often enough to know that less was definitely better) and once the doctor had left, Clint had simply collapsed into the chair beside her bed.

But now Darcy was awake and smiling at him, her fingers delicately carding through the short hair at the back of his neck and sending a delicious shudder straight down his spine. His grey eyes were cleared of sleep in an instant and he stood to gently brush a curl of hair from her cheek. "Hey Darcy-girl. How're you feeling?"

She grimaced. "Like I've been hit by a truck and slept in filth. Any chance you can spring me and whisk me off to a place with a proper bath?" Her eyes were clear, the swelling on her face much reduced although the skin was a violent purple. He nodded.

"I promised Jane I'd take you straight to her, but I think a brief diversion for a soak is understandable. I'll get the doctor to sign you off – there doesn't seem to be much more they can do for you here." He stretched over her to press the call button, and her breath caught in her throat ("Oh for god's sake, Darcy" she thought sternly, "can't you last ten minutes in his company without wanting to lick something?"). Clint threw her an amused look as he sat back. "Easy tiger, now is not the time" he murmured as a guy in a white coat came through the door. The doctor shot Clint a dirty look (what had he done now?) before proceeding to subject her to a bunch of tests which Darcy felt were both patronising and unnecessary. Clint smirked when she rolled her eyes at him behind the doctor's back, but she stopped being snarky when he pulled the lines from the back of her hand.

Thankfully the doctor had also come to the opinion that she would heal just as well somewhere she wouldn't take up one of his hospital beds, and told her to get dressed whilst he sorted the paperwork, and then left. Darcy looked mock-piteously at the Cutest Secret Agent Ever ™. "What do I get dressed in? I don't see my old stuff here, although after a week of constant wear I'm pretty sure that it should all go in the incinerator as bio-hazard waste."

Clint kissed her forehead "I saved your boots, but yeah – the rest was taken away by an orderly. I'll see what I can do, although you do look rather fetching in a hospital gown. Something about the way your butt is visible through the tie-back…" He laughed and ducked her pillow as it sailed past his head, leaving the room quickly when he realised she was eyeing up the water jug which was within easy reach. Her affectionate cussing followed him down the sterile corridor.

He was back within the hour, a brand new pair of jeans and one of his own clean t-shirts over his arm. He dumped them on the chair as she finished off a game on her phone, giving the little rectangle of smart technology an exaggerated kiss before placing it on the bedside cabinet. She grinned at him and held out her hand. He helped her sit forwards, but was waved away when he tried to take her elbow and aid her further.

"Clint, sweetie, I'm done with being a damsel in distress for the moment. Right now, I've got to at least _think_ I can do something by myself". She ran an appraising eye over his choice of clothing from her seat on the edge of the bed, diplomatically ignoring the blatant territorial mark of his own t-shirt in the pile. There was a small pink bag half-tucked beneath the jeans which she hooked out first, but when Darcy side-eyed Clint he was very deliberately not looking at her. The faint blush over his cheeks made her give a faint snort before she unwrapped the contents without comment, laying the new underwear on the bed.

She levered herself to her feet. "Right, sooner done, sooner home. Clint, can you get the ties?" As he helped, more injuries than the stab wound, the ribs and the black eye were revealed. There was extensive bruising all across her lower back, some of which was covered by the white pad and medical tape over her stitches. There were finger bruises on her upper arms, impact marks and burst blood vessels over her shoulders and the backs of her thighs. Clint felt sick.

Darcy watched him get more and more blank as he helped her dress. When his t-shirt was settled across her shoulders she grabbed his hand and hung on tight. "If you say one thing even remotely similar to 'it's my fault' or 'I can't do this to you', I'm going to Tase you. Or maybe I'll tell Tasha and let her show you how being an idiot will work out for you". She glared at him until his expression softened slightly, and then carefully lifted her arms onto his shoulders and twisted her fingers together behind his neck. "When I was locked in that little room and psycho-boy was raving about ruining your life, I didn't regret knowing you. I regretted knowing you _more_".

His hands were on her hips, pulling her closer and she snugged in against his chest. "Nat called when I was shopping. She said pretty much the same thing, but threatened me with _you._" He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. "But why let Barney win?"

Darcy melted when he bent his head, his lips oh-so-gently meeting hers.


	16. Chapter 16

**I am so sorry. So very sorry. The bare bones - well, OK, the smutty bit - of this chapter has been written for ages but it just didn't feel **_**right**_** to post that without a little bit of a something extra to tie it (no matter how loosely) into the plot. It felt gratuitous, and I prefer my smut to have a meaning. Anyway – forward kind readers!**

He'd helped her to have a shower when they got back to his apartment, lathering shampoo through her hair so that she didn't have to raise her arms and pull her ribs; gently detangling her tresses whilst she sat on the couch (he perched behind her so that she was between his knees, leaning her shoulder against him occasionally as if reminding herself that he was there) and watched cartoons. Once she felt more human, aided in no small part by the many large mugs of strong coffee, she faced Coulson's questions and Jane's mother-henning with a forced smile, even managing to get through Dr Selvig's biased advice (that man could glare daggers all he liked, Clint was going nowhere). When the margarita mix was pulled out Coulson had a quiet word with Selvig before they both walked outside, and Clint thought it would be better to leave the two women to it. He kissed Darcy on the cheek and wished them both a good evening before staggering through the streets and falling into his bed. Exhaustion took him eventually, but even in sleep his bed felt cold and empty without Darcy in his arms.

xxx

"Tasha, I think I'm going crazy"

"Tell me something I haven't known for years, Clint. What's brought on your sudden declaration of insanity this time?" The woman's dry tone echoed faintly.

"I can't take it anymore. I can't resist her, but I don't want to rush her. It's really fucking hard, Nat. She asked for a massage on her shoulder last night and then she started making the most…goddammit, those noises…" Clint had to adjust his trousers at the memory of Darcy sighing and groaning with relief, tried to suppress the lust the memory unleashed.

"Clint, I do not particularly want to know. Where are you now?" She sounded exasperated, like he was missing something utterly obvious. She clicked her tongue and called him an idiot when he told her that he'd had to leave suddenly under the pretext of shopping for dinner ingredients. "Go home, you fool, and don't call me until at least tomorrow afternoon or I'll kick your arse harder than I usually do the next time we train", and she hung up. A minute later, she sent a text _He's on his way. N._

xxx

Three weeks, Darcy mused, as her fingers delicately traced their way up the sensitive skin of her thigh. Well, maybe two since the rib wrappings came off, and one since he'd been able to look at her without wincing at the now-faded bruising which had been spread across at least a third of her face. But still, three weeks of gentle embraces, of being carried to bed when she'd fallen asleep on the couch next to him. Three weeks of deflection, distraction and evasion and being treated like some sort of cut-glass flower. Sure, feeling like a princess was fun for about a day (make it two, if you insisted on including the day he'd ordered in proper sushi especially from LA) but dammit, when it came to Clint she had _needs_. Filthy, sweaty needs such as his tongue over her aching core, or his strong, callused hands tenderly holding her legs apart as he filled her with his hard, dripping, _glorious_ cock…

Jesus, if she kept up that line of thinking she wouldn't last a minute. But she knew he was getting desperate as well – she'd snuck into the bathroom whilst he was in the shower and she knew what a man looked like from behind when he was having a wank (god, that was hot) – and it was all his own chivalric fault.

Her text alert pinged, and she allowed herself to be briefly distracted. Smiling at the message, she typed back t_hanx_ before turning it off and lying back on the bed, the pillow comfortably under the small of her back. Time to put Operation Finally Get Fucked By Clint Barton Who Is Being Dense Despite All The Hints into action.

xxx

Clint tucked the brown bag of unnecessary groceries onto his hip as he fumbled the key into the lock. His hands were already shaking slightly at the thought of having to resist her for another evening, and he steeled himself with a deep breath before opening the door. It was quiet in the apartment, so he guessed that maybe she had gone to see Jane for the evening like he had suggested. That would give him enough time to pack away the food and relieve some of the tension he'd been carrying since she'd stepped out of the bathroom not even an hour before, clad only in a small towel. His balls had actually started to ache when the soft scent of her had reached him, and he'd almost run out of the door. He didn't want to rush her back into the physical part of their relationship, especially with her still-tender ribs, but god it was a strain. He couldn't relax around her, could barely kiss her without wanting to just pull her clothes off and do dirty, dirty things to her. He adjusted his trousers again. The food was going to have to wait…

A soft noise on the edge of his hearing had him reaching for the sidearm which he had taken to storing in the kitchen drawer, next to the cooking utensils (It had freaked Darcy out the first time she'd pulled it out instead of a spatula, but she'd understood when he sat her down and gently explained to her that he felt better knowing it was there. She'd even requisitioned a spare holster from his equipment for her Taser, and wore it under her coat whenever she went out without him). With the gun held low and ready, the safety thumbed off, he crept to the door of the bedroom, peering through the crack where it had been left slightly ajar. He nearly dropped the weapon from suddenly nerveless fingers, snatching it back into a tighter grip just as it was about to slip onto his own foot.

The young woman he had spent the past three weeks trying to resist, who haunted his waking thoughts and night time dreams with visions of porcelain skin and wickedly full lips, was lying on his bed buck naked. One arm was flung over her eyes whilst the other was resting across her hip, fingers dancing lightly between her thighs. Her knees were slightly raised, the pillow under her lower back curving her body into a poetic shape and her hips were flexing slightly against her own hand. She took a quick breath, a catch in the soft sound as a finger ran between her glistening folds. Clint, very carefully and without taking his eyes from the woman before him, slipped on the safety of the gun before silently placing it on the floor beside him. He used the opportunity of Darcy covering her own eyes to push the door slightly wider for a less obstructed view.

He exhaled and pressed the flat of palm hard to his cock, already scraping against the zipper of his trousers. Jesus, this was… Holy fuck. He tried to swallow, his mouth as dry as sand. He had to force himself to blink.

The arm over her eyes dropped and she stared blindly at the ceiling as she kneaded her own breast. She'd caught her lower lip between pearly teeth as she delicately rolled her nipple between greedy fingers, whimpering when she lightly tugged on it, and Clint braced his legs for balance as he leant back against the wall, his hand already inside his zipper. With a loose grip he stroked himself in time to her rhythm, although judging by the wetness smeared on the inside of her thigh, the flush over her chest and the sweat sheen covering the rest of her divine body she wasn't going to last long because the approaching orgasm was obviously a sequel. Oh god, she must have been doing this since he'd almost run away from her. His knees buckled, and he only just managed to stop himself from sliding down the wall and landing in an ignoble heap.

It was like the night the Big Guy had beaten up half of SHIELD. He should announce himself, stop being a creeper, let her know… But fuck this show was just too hot to stop.

A sob, and Darcy was coming with a whispered scream and goddamn if that didn't just about finish him. His hand was a blur, her name a prayer upon his lips whilst his eyes rolled back and his back arched, his prized vision blurring to white.

When he was able to open his eyes again, Darcy was leaning against the doorway with a satisfied smirk. He panted as he watched her watching him, unable to find the right words (hell, _any_ words at all) to apologise for intruding. He settled for swallowing guiltily and giving her the puppy-eyes – although he was sure the contrite look was spoilt by the fact that his hand was continuing to massage his still-hard cock and the splatter of come streaked across the hardware floor. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Three weeks, dude, and you didn't pick up a single hint. Now get your ass in here and scratch the _very_ insistent itch which the last hour hasn't even touched". He scrambled for the bed, grabbing Darcy's hand as he passed and pulling her, laughing, back into the room.

_**Darcy writhed, twisting enough that he had to hold her legs tightly as he licked into her, lapping and drinking, sucking her clit until she unravelled with an almighty scream**_

_**The tight heat of her cunt around him, and all higher thoughts were derailed when she pulled his head to her chest. He buried his face in her flesh, biting and sucking as he gently, carefully pushed into her, hilt deep with each thrust**_

_**Her teeth nipping his shoulder as she rode him, flexing her hips in that special way that gripped him so snugly and drove him towards fist-clenching insanity. He came again with a strangled shout of "Fuck, Darcy!"**_

xxx

She lay draped over him, as boneless as a blanket with hot breath against his neck. He gently ran his callused fingertips up the smooth skin of her spine; Darcy murmured sleepily and tried to snuggle deeper against him. He stared up at the dark ceiling and finally admitted to himself what Natasha had known with only one glance, what Coulson had guessed two days after Darcy had been taken and he'd refused to move from the computer monitors to either eat or sleep. He now knew that he was hopelessly, irrevocably and completely head-over-heels in love with the beautiful woman in his arms. With a smile, he followed her into an exhausted sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry this has taken so long – I've had it written for a while but was *terrible* at getting it typed up. I blame the distraction of computer games…**

**Thank you for hanging on in there **

Life moved on surprisingly smoothly in the sleepy little town; it was almost back to normal barely two months after nearly being flattened by a 12 feet tall fire robot and the battle with Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three. Dr Selvig was pulled away from Puente Antiguo by the higher ups in SHEILD which pissed Jane off, but seeing as he had come out to the arse end of Nowhere as an unpaid favour and then got mixed up in a very localised Armageddon, she couldn't really complain. Darcy was even more out of her depth and was reduced to typing dictation and driving the van between trying to smash her own high scores on Angry Birds. Clint was back on duty and suffering each day; Darcy only slept at his apartment Friday night through Monday morning unless there was another atmospheric phenomenon predicted, and on the days she did not wake in his bed… well, a text message describing the day's underwear selection didn't really help him in keeping his mind on the assignment. Nor did the messages informing him of what she would do if he just came down off the rooftop across the road when Jane inevitably crashed out with her loopy sleep patterns. Even though, holy god, that one was tempting. A striptease, on the roof this time… Shit. Mind on the job Barton. Stay focussed for fuck's sake. Aw damn, too late. Oh sod it, it's Friday and it's practically law to goof off then…

_Her hips swivelled as she danced before him, fingers deftly undoing the shirt she had liberated from his drawer before letting it slide from her shoulders. The push-up, half-cup oyster silk bra was a feat of engineering in her size, but the small fortune she'd spent on it was totally worth it from his reaction. Clint's hands tightened on the couch cushions either side of his legs as he stopped himself from reaching for her, and his mouth dropped open. She tapped his chin and he snapped it shut, swallowing the sudden rush of saliva. The teasingly open fly of her jeans indicated a matching set and oh god he wanted into those delicate looking panties so bad. And then she was behind him, sliding her hands down his chest until she tucked her mouth to his neck, nibbling at his jawline and running the tip of her tongue up the edge of his ear. A shiver ran down his spine, and he went to bury his hand in her hair, but she pulled back. "I said no touching" and his hand reluctantly dropped to land in his lap. He pressed the heel of his palm against his achingly confined cock but she slapped it away. "When I give a no touching rule, that applies to yourself as well. Hands back at your sides". He whined. He couldn't help it – she'd been driving him crazy like this for the past hour. Darcy leant over him again and he tried not to nuzzle as she rested her cheek against his. "Of course, the rule does not apply to me…" and ran her fingernails up his stomach and over his ribs. His gasp at the sudden sharp pain and the arching of his back matched the music pumping from the iPod speakers; the small part of his brain which was not alternating between howling and flat-lining gave her kudos for timing her teasing perfectly._

_She was before him now, swaying to the music and looking at him over her shoulder as her thumbs ran around the waistband of her jeans. Darcy gave him a saucy wink as she slowly slid the tough denim down over the globes of her arse. His eyes were glued to the slow reveal of her flesh and he wet his lips. He'd been to skin bars all over the world, and although Darcy wasn't as practised as some of those girls (and on one rather memorable occasion, a guy) she sure knew the moves which did it for him._

His phone buzzed, the proximity of its vibration to his aching erection sending a rather pleasant stab of pained arousal up his spine. The text was from Darcy – _lunch? It won't be cereal product this time_ – and he tapped an affirmative reply before adjusting himself and dropping lightly from his roof to the one below, and from there to the street. Wandering through a small New Mexico town with a rifle strapped to his back should have drawn looks of alarm from the townsfolk going about their business, but the locals had embraced the idea of armed government(ish) people wandering around. Crime was non-existent now, and the agents were dropping a lot of cash in the bars and shops of the town. Darcy had been right – Izzy really did make a fantastic all-day breakfast.

As he walked through the open glass doors (dammit, would they never listen to him and keep them shut, if not locked?) the sound of frying drew him forwards and he felt like cheering – Darcy was cooking up omelettes. Jane was still scribbling like mad in a notebook, occasionally breaking to stare at nothing, but Clint knew that as soon as food was announced she could snap out of her semi-trance and function like a normal human being.

Darcy held a plate of toast and omelette under the physicists nose with one hand and plucked away her pen with the other. The older woman glared at her for an unfocussed second before breaking into a grateful grin. The two women had bonded closer than before since Darcy's ordeal. Something to do with comparing the psychotically jealous brothers of each boyfriend (Jane won despite the kidnapping. Sending killer robots through inter-dimensional space was just a little more extreme than Barney) and the brilliant astrophysicist did show rather more appreciation for her intern's obscure insights. When it came to science – or should he say, Science! – the younger woman seemed to be able to think round corners. And he knew that she was more observant than she usually let on. He wouldn't be either sharing body heat or her food if she wasn't.

There was comfortable smalltalk. Jane babbled at him when he asked how the research was going whilst Darcy rolled her eyes and pulled faces. When Jane noticed his glazing expression and Darcy's grin, she tempered herself to science-fiction analogies with a rueful apology. Clint had to admit that since Dr Selvig had left with Agent Coulson, the atmosphere whenever he sat in with the techies was a lot more relaxed. Jane had retained her urgency but lost the put-upon look.

When Darcy had misunderstood a phrase which Clint had been able to grasp for the seventh time, Jane pushed back her chair and stood, explaining that she needed the fresh air of the roof to think. The door had barely swung shut again before he had a surprise lapful of girlfriend. Not that he would have dreamt of complaining. "Thank fuck she's gone. I thought she'd never get fed up and leave" Darcy said with a grin; she suppressed a shiver as he ran his hands up her thighs.

"_I said no touching. I'll stop if you do that again" and his hands were once more gripping the couch cushions so hard he briefly thought that he might tear the fabric. He bit back a groan as Darcy's fingers raked through his short hair and trailed around the back of his head, running a fingernail along his jawline. He swore to himself that he would make her pay for her delicious torment. He would offer a slow massage and ignore her begging. He would lick her until she was screaming with the need to come and then deny her release. He'd put her over his knee and… Oh fuck, she was dancing again. He almost whimpered as she pushed his knees apart and ground her beautiful rear against his aching crotch. "Eager fella, aren't you?" she smirked at him over her shoulder as she slowly slid against his straining zipper. He couldn't stop the strangled gasp as the metal teeth scraped his flesh, the tendons in his neck straining as he resisted the desire to move. And then she was lounging back against him and running her hands down her own body; her breath was hot against his neck as she ran one delicate fingertip over the silk-covered junction of her thighs._

He wrapped his arms around her and she melted against his chest. Nuzzling into her hair, he breathed in deeply, pulling the scent of her shampoo, her skin and the very faint undercurrent of himself deep into his lungs before releasing it with a longing sigh. Darcy's exhale as he pulled back matched his.

"Do you have to run off back to your rooftop, or can I keep you for a while? At least until the uber-geeks get back from the diner?" He nodded, and then ran his tongue up the side of her neck. Her eyelids fluttered briefly and she took a deep breath. "Dude, Jane'll be back at any minute and it's not fair to flaunt being a super-sexy couple at her when her hot piece of alien god is in another dimension. Or whatever." He grumbled and stopped nibbling her neck, though he refused to let her off his lap.

_Her head rested on his shoulder, her back against his hard chest with her thighs spread wide to hook her knees over his. His breath was shallow as he stared down the length of her body, past (though also distracted by) her glorious breasts to where she was now finger-fucking herself against him. He felt drunk, utterly intoxicated by her movements. His cock felt like it was ready to explode. Darcy was sighing against his neck and he was muttering back, an undercurrent of "God Darcy, please I need you, I need to fuck you, Darcy please I'm begging you" was a constant whisper through the suddenly thick air of the apartment. The desperate litany seemed only to spur her on – she moaned in his ear and his vision narrowed. His body was rigid as he held himself still, his cock throbbing painfully with each beat of his hammering heart._

_Darcy was close now, biting her lip as she turned her face to him. "Jesus fuck, Clint, make me come". He didn't need telling twice – his hands were there, stroking her skin and kneading at her pliant flesh, his callused fingertips catching against her skin slightly. One of his hands covered her at her core, impatiently pushing aside the fine silk of her delicate panties, and first two, then three, fingers were inside her whilst his thumb circled and rubbed at the nub of her clit. When her back arched in response to the blissful intrusion he pulled her back against his heaving chest, first gently tweaking and then cruelly pinching her nipple; she screamed her release as she quaked in his arms. Eventually, the aftershocks subsided and her breathing slowed to the point where she could twist round in his arms and straddle his lap. Her voice was still a little hoarse from her outburst, "Good boys who do as they're told get rewarded". She leaned closer, resting her chest against his as she growled in his ear "And that, my dearest Archer-Boy, was very, very good." He almost came from the promise in her voice._

Darcy looked over his shoulder as the front door was pushed open and Clint cursed his basic rookie mistake of having his back to it. Just being near Darcy turned his whole training upside-down… "Can I help you" she called.

A voice like razor-sharp silk carried easily across the room "Yes, you can. You can take your tongue out of my husband's ear so that he and I can have a civil conversation".


	18. Chapter 18

**This chapter has been a complete sod to write – I've had less time recently to actually sit down and concentrate, and getting into the right mindset for some parts of this is just…hard. But still, we must suffer for our art, right?**

Clint had frozen, his face dropping into an emotionless mask as his hands stopped gently circling on Darcy's thighs and simply grasped her tightly. Her voice brought back so many memories. They hadn't spoken in nearly eight years, not since she'd moved west, and he'd never thought… He knew what She looked like without even turning round. Blonde straight hair cut in whatever the latest fashion was. Whip thin. Suit which did nothing to cover all the sharp angles of her body – a severe cut which only served to reduce what femininity She allowed Herself. Perfect make-up of the "tries to hard to look fresh-faced" variety. Except for the lipstick. Bright red, as if She had just feasted on a fresh kill. Hip cocked to the side and a patronising expression schooled in such a way so as not to cause wrinkles. Always so damn worried about wrinkles that She stopped smiling.

Darcy was still in his arms. Fuck. Darcy. Why hadn't he told her? He hadn't mentioned Her, nor what he had done. He'd hoped that he could just get it over with – rip Her away in one move like a plaster. A really fucking well glued on one. Shit arse bollocks.

The young woman leaned back and looked at him. Her face was as blank as his, but there was a single emotion in her beautiful blue eyes: disappointment. What the fuck could he say to her? If he told her he loved her now, it would sound like a total line, and she'd never believe anything he said ever again. His lips twisted with regret, and her gaze dropped; she gave a sigh and firmly removed his hands from her legs. Did her fingers linger on his? Had he imagined a slight squeeze? No, She was going to ensure that Darcy would leave him. His shoulders slumped.

Darcy had never seen a man collapse so fast, and that included the two or three she had personally Tasered. This was obviously the woman Tasha had told her about, and Clint was not exactly thrilled by her appearance. A wife…Fuck. Now that was a situation she would have preferred to have had a heads-up about. Still, no point being angry. Yet.

"Clint, sweetheart. Don't you want to talk to me and explain why these papers were delivered to me by an astonishingly smug young suit. I've told you before, I will leave you with nothing." Darcy watched the woman stalk closer, like a housecat hunting a mouse. She gently rubbed the back of one of his hands with her fingertips, and they dropped listlessly back into his lap; Darcys heart pretty much broke then and there. She kissed his forehead gently and Clint looked up – some of the lost-boy look left his face when their eyes met.

"Oh for fucks sake, Clint. Put your adulterous bit of jailbait down for a while so that we can discuss this like adults. Stop being so pathetic. I know you're pulling those stupid puppydog eyes – you did the same with me whenever you screwed up. It didn't work then and it sure as hell won't work now." She prowled closer, and Darcy could practically _feel_ the older woman flexing her claws, but y'know what? Clint was hers now. She opened her mouth to snark back, and froze as the skinny blonde _pulled a fucking gun on her_. "Oh honey", the newcomer mocked, "don't even try. I know all about you – Clint's latest little whore. Too stupid to keep her grubby little paws off what doesn't belong to her". Darcy was desperately tapping at Clint's chest. Fuckfuckfuck. She'd been a Girl Scout, she should remember…got it. She tapped him on the left pectoral (mmm…Focus!), softly for the dots, harder for the dashes.

Dot dot dot. Dash dash dash. Dot dot dot.

She knew the moment he realised something was up and shook himself from constricting memories. A glance over his shoulder and suddenly he was standing, holding Darcy behind him and sidling them both sideways so that She was no longer between them and the door. "Bobbi," he said carefully, keeping his voice low and unthreatening, "you don't have to do this. You have my full attention. Just let Darcy go". A scornful sneer twisted the perfectly made-up mouth, the gun always tracking them as the three moved oh so slowly in a circle.

"After all the bother the little slut has put me through? Oh no, she doesn't get to run off and call in the cavalry. I have to admit, you disappointed me by doing that, Clint".

He stilled. "You know about what happened?" Darcy's arm went slightly numb as his grip on her constricted, and she peeked over his shoulder at this 'Bobbi'.

The woman in question gave a disgustingly twinkly little laugh. "Oh sweetie, you know you're brother." Her face dropped from amusement into a sinister grin, "He couldn't find his own arse without both hands and a map." Clint was immobile – surely she wasn't saying...? "Oh darling, I can hear your pathetic brain trying to work from here. Shall I just put you out of your misery?" Bobbi wasn't even looking at them any more; one hand held the Glock rocksteady in front of Her whilst She checked the manicure (perfect) of the other. "I took the photos. I heard you were out here – and if you remember I told you never to come west of Kansas – and wanted to see what new little distraction you'd convinced into your bed. So I followed you and took those delightful little snaps of your blatant disregard of your vow to be true to me."

Clint was like a statue; Darcy was trapped behind his shielding body by the vice-like grip on her upper arm, and the tension in his stance was starting to scare her more than the psycho with the gun. But Bobbi wasn't finished gloating yet. "I arranged for Barney to get here. I even drove the fucking van. Oh think about it – your brother couldn't have snatched the skank _and_ driven straight off, but no-one came to the obvious conclusion that he wasn't working alone." Her lip curled in derision. "You're all so blind with your rules and regulations."

Darcy was free of Clint's grip so suddenly that she stumbled, not realising just how much he'd been holding her up. He stepped forwards a few paces, and Bobbi's aim snapped to him before drifting lazily back to Darcy. "Jeesus, Bobbi, that's… Why did you do it?" He tried to keep his body angled between the two women, trying to make sure that should the trigger be pulled – accidentally or otherwise – the young woman who had captured his heart would be harmed.

Her face morphed from a smoothly sardonic mask to a feral snarl with such speed and ferocity that even Clint took a step back. "Because you're mine. You may have headed to the East Coast and played with other women, but you belonged to me first. And I'll tell you when you can leave, not some smug little pre-pubescent in a badly fitting suit trying to shove divorce papers in my hands." The gun was waving around as She gestured, Her finger tightening and relaxing on the trigger. Both Clint and Darcy were watching it carefully, flinching almost imperceptibly on Clints part and more dramatically on Darcys. All three of them were so focussed on each other, none of them heard a door quietly open.

Bobbi was off again, "I mean, what has the little whore got over you? If it's blackmail I can just kill her now…" Her eyes were wild and seemed to be staring at nothing, "because you belong with me, Clint. No-one will miss her. It'll be just like old times again." The gun steadied. Pointing straight at Darcy and Clint leapt forwards. Before he could close enough to tackle his hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-wife to the ground, however, there was a nasty sounding _thunk_, Her eyes rolled back and She dropped like a ton of bricks.

Jane dropped the rather heavy, homemade and handheld Geiger counter on the blondes inert form. "Only I can threaten to kill Darcy, you crazy bitch, and I don't even mean it at least half of the time!"

At that moment, Darcy realised that when she grew up she wanted to be just like her boss.


End file.
